Rock Me To Sleep
by purplecloak9
Summary: The war against Voldemort ended in a hollow victory. Disillusioned by the loss, Harry returns to his eleven year old body and uses his knowledge and training to control the rise and fall of Voldemort. Canon pairings.
1. Landslide

**A/N: Revised as of September 15, 2009. I'm working on fixing some of the continuity problems, so I'm creating a timeline and noticed a mistake or two in this first chapter. It will definitely be a while before everything's fixed to my satisfation, but I do want to get it done. Thanks.**

A brunette man walked out of the lift and down the lowest corridor in the Ministry of Magic. His strides were even, but there was a slightly obvious favoring of his left leg that caused a pronounced limp in his movement. His body was slim and muscular, as though he had once spent many hours working out, but was now in the process of getting out of shape.

The man walked through the halls with a purpose common for the department he was currently searching for – people who worked down in the deepest corners of the Ministry were always hurrying this way and that way. The hall was empty at the moment, but even normally when six or seven witches and wizards occupied the place at the same time, they merely brushed each other's shoulders in their haste, even if it was a person with whom they were very familiar.

He took a right turn, and ended up in another corridor, which was lined with numerous doors, all of which looked exactly the same, and all of which he knew were bolted shut with an armed guard at its entrance. Security around the Department, and indeed the Ministry in general, had upped in recent years, especially since a group of fifteen year olds and an evil Dark Lord had once managed to break in and destroy many prized collectables.

All of the door handles were charmed to test a person's intentions and clearance. If an unworthy person attempted to enter the knob would disappear, and an alarm would go off in the Auror department. There was something special behind the door the man was headed toward, hence the fact that it had no knob at all – simply a rectangular peephole, which was reinforced by metal. He marched up to the door and stood erect, raising a firm hand to the door and giving it three raps in quick succession.

It was silent for a long moment, but eventually a hesitant inch of the peephole opened. A deep brown eye appeared, narrowed at the man. "Drop your glamour," the voice, now obviously female, commanded.

The man looked about, making sure no one was watching, before he replied in the negative. "I can't," he said in a deep voice. "Not until I'm inside."

The rectangle had opened all the way now, and two eyes watched the man warily. "I can't let you in if I can't properly identify you. I'll have to think up a security question."

He spread out his hands in a placating gesture. "Ask away."

"Who was the second person I danced with at my wedding?"

A small smile appeared at the corners of his mouth. "That would be me." He didn't continue, expecting a follow up question.

"What did you say to me during our dance?"

"I told you I had never seen you look so beautiful. I said I was going to do my best to make sure you and Ron made it through the war alive," he said, features stiffening. A look of sorrow and defeat consumed him, and the woman's countenance faltered.

"And when Ron died? What did you say at the funeral?" she asked, in a whisper.

"_I am so weary of toil and of tears, Toil without recompense--tears all in vain, take them and give me my childhood again."_ He recited the words with a deep sadness that only the person on the other side of the door could begin to understand.

The door opened.

As soon as he had passed the threshold and the door was securely locked again, the woman enveloped him in a firm embrace. Pulling away, she examined his unfamiliar face, but seemed to take something away from it.

"You haven't been sleeping," she admonished, brushing his hair away from his forehead. "Take down the glamour, there isn't anyone else here tonight."

He nodded his assent, and flicked his wand in a general way. His shoulders broadened, his femurs lengthening slightly, the muddy brown hair turning black, and finally the eyes changed back into their natural, brilliant green.

She turned away, moving further into the room, which was spacious and nearly empty. The walls were painted a dull white, and several work desks were laid out in a row across the far wall. She evidently occupied two of the desks, as she had only one chair between them. She sat on it and swiveled around.

"I haven't seen you in a while," she said softly. "I had thought…perhaps you were angry with me."

He followed her, pulling a chair from the next desk over. "I'm not angry with you, Hermione. It was my responsibility as much as yours. I hope you don't think I took advantage of you. If you do, I can only apologize."

She looked at him thoughtfully. "I don't love you, Harry, I think you know that. And I know you don't come anywhere near loving me. The two loves of our lives were freckly and had red hair. But sometimes, I feel like if I don't…If I don't hug someone, kiss someone, I'll die. I suppose you know what it feels like."

During her speech his eyes had become unfocused, but he snapped to attention. "I know what it feels like," he replied hollowly. "But I'm not an animal; I can control myself. If you don't want to work together anymore, I'll understand."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be stupid, Harry. I wanted it as much as you did. When you didn't come by last week…"

"Kingsley had me out on a mission," he said. "He didn't want anyone to know."

"I figured," she replied, looking down at the floor. "But I wasn't being exactly rational. It was the first time since…Ron."

"It was the same for me," he reminded her. "I hadn't been with anyone except for Ginny."

"I miss them so much."

"Did I ever tell you we were trying for a baby? We decided right after Lucius Malfoy was arrested. And you know how that ended," he finished bitterly.

She smiled wistfully. "Ron wanted to wait a few years, until we were older, and until the rest of the Death Eaters were put away and Voldemort was dead. He said we had all the time in the world – and I believed the _bastard_."

"No one knew what was happening, Hermione. The fall wasn't executed the way we planned it."

"Of course not," she seethed. "Who could have predicted that little rat Draco Malfoy would be such an opportunist and betray us?"

"It doesn't do to dwell on it, Hermione. He as good as killed himself. I was there when he was tortured, you know. Voldemort thanked Draco for handing him the Weasley's, and then killed him for insubordination. Of course, the Killing Curse didn't come until dozens of the Cruciatus. By that time he was begging for death…"

His eyes were hollow again, just like they were nearly every minute of his life since the death of his wife.

"I know it's hard on you."

He shrugged. "I visit Arthur, when I can."

"I do too," she said, nodding. "He never did learn to cook…after Molly."

"What are we doing, Hermione?" he asked abruptly. "I'm not happy. You aren't happy. Arthur's whole _entire_ family is dead, and he is wasting away. I live in the house of my _dead_ godfather, wearing a wedding band which belonged to my _dead_ father, and I wear this chain -" he ripped a silver chain from underneath his robes – "with the engagement ring my _dead_ wife used to wear. I'm surrounded, 'Mione! I can't get rid of the stench! Everyone is gone and I have no idea what I'm still doing here!"

She rose from her seat. "What the _fuck_ do you want from me, Harry? I'm doing the best I can under the circumstances. You yelling at me won't help us figure out the plan. Now," she said practically. "I can tell you what I know and you can shut the _fuck_ up, or you can leave. I'm not in the mood."

He sighed. "What have you found out?"

"There are theories of how to achieve time travel."

His eyes lit up. "I can move through time?" he asked eagerly.

She cringed. "It isn't that simple, Harry. Movement isn't really…well it isn't as easy as all that. Howard thinks that the most practical approach is to send _memories_ backwards. If you went back in your own body, like with a Time-Turner, you wouldn't be able to go back as far because of your mass. Well, I think you'd have too much…matter for the velocity to be as high as it needs to be to propel you back. Plus, you wouldn't be able to change things as much or as easily as we need."

"You said in your owl you made some sort of progress," he said, almost accusingly.

She hesitated. "Well, Howard and I were playing around with some figures, and we came along an idea."

"Which is?"

"There's a school of thought that says your life is a kind of circle. Howard thinks, and I'm starting to agree with him, that if we flung your memories forward fast enough that they would eventually leave the parameters of the future, and end up in the past."

"How would you do it?"

"That's actually where Howard is most valuable. He did his internship in Spell Generation, and he has a lot of experience with Latin. He's been working on a spell that would send you back…or well, forward."

"But what about other 'time lines'? Couldn't I just go back further into the past and…I don't know…kill Tom Riddle before he becomes Voldemort?"

She shook her head. "Harry, you've never been to the nineteen-fifties, when Riddle was a child. It's all so terribly confusing.

"There are parallel timelines, theoretically of course, which would mean you would either vanish altogether from here and end up in the future. I think it's much more likely that your body will just become limp and unusable in this timeline.

"We're working with the foundation that you can send back memories of these years to your past self. As long as you stay within your own timeline, anything is possible. And this isn't really accepted in the world of time travel."

"Why isn't it?"

"There are a whole lot of other diagrams from what we're trying to do, and all of them are much more complicated than the diagram Howard and I have come up with. I can't imagine it really _is_ that simple."

"What side effects do you imagine I would have?"

She flinched. "I'm not exactly sure. I reckon you'll mess up some things in the universe, sort of like a ripple effect. There will definitely be some fundamental changes now that you know the causality. We'll definitely have to have a game plan before we so much as attempt a spell."

"But Hermione, what if you're right, and my body becomes limp while my mind goes back in time – we were doing this for _us_. I can't just leave you behind in this hellhole."

"It may not even work the way I suspect. Perhaps this world will cease to exist the minute you go back." She looked doubtful.

"Your heart has been broken enough, my friend," he said softly, brushing his hand across her cheek. "I can't go without you, not if you'll be imprisoned here."

"I don't think we have a choice," she replied, closing her brown eyes. "Howard and I will barely have enough energy between the two of us to activate the spell properly. We were looking at it and still aren't sure it won't dry one – or both – of us up magically. That's why we haven't been jumping for joy."

"What if you send me back, and then Howard finds someone else to help send you back?"

She gave him a superior smile. "I'm not sure I'd trust anyone else with my memories. Anyway, I've told you the entire circle diagram is completely untested and most likely incorrect. I could risk starting time over _again_ if I don't do it right."

"But what if it is a parallel universe?" he persisted. "Can you really handle being here all alone?"

She turned away. "I don't plan on being here long."

"Hermione, what are you thinking?"

"After you leave, I plan on putting myself out of my misery," she said firmly.

His emerald eyes widened. "Hermione, no! There's another way, I know it. There has to be a way for you to come back with me. Either that – or to verify that time will totally reset itself and you will be transported back yourself."

"I believe Howard when he says this timeline will disappear entirely. He is smarter than I am, and I can't really argue when I see the math he figures. It's my prerogative, Harry. If it starts over, you'll do your best to ensure my happiness, I know it. And if I'm stuck here I'll be comforted with the fact that my other self is your best friend again. And I'll be ridding myself of this burden. Every night, every day, every _second_ without Ron is like a weight around my neck. It just gets heavier as I get more tired. I'm _tired_, Harry. I'm tired of being logical; I'm tired of being the brains. I'm exhausted from half a lifetime of unrequited love, and the other half mourning. I had three years with Ron, and I miss my husband.

"Say you'll do this, Harry," she pleaded, grasping his shoulders in her hands. "Say that if I can come up with a spell that works, regardless of what will happen to this timeline that you'll go for it, and save the world again. Only this time, you have to use this knowledge and save our family."

Choking back tears, Harry nodded. "You find the spell and call me. I'll be here."

###

_"I was thinking…" she said hesitantly, pulling the white cotton sheet to her chin. "Well, I was more wondering about something."_

_Harry rose on his elbow, reaching over to stroke her cheek. "What is it? What are you thinking about?"_

_She responded by moving closer, and snuggling up against him. "I was wondering what you thought about having babies." She looked up at him, gauging his reaction._

_His expression didn't change much; his brow furrowed slightly in bemusement, and his mouth perked up at the sides. "You want to have children?"_

_"Well, not at this exact moment, I don't. But I want to talk about it. Do you ever think about what it would be like to start a family? Do you ever want lots of little Potters running around? There would be James Sirius, of course, and Albus Remus, or Lily Molly – what about Lily Luna?" She giggled._

_He closed his eyes, sighing in contentment at the picture forming in his mind. "That sounds wonderful."_

_"I think so," she whispered, rising up on her elbow so she could kiss him on the lips."_

_"Do you think we can get that – our future?" he asked in a low voice. His wife was the only person who knew the extent of his apprehension about the final confrontation with Voldemort. No one else knew he spent many a sleepless night tossing and turning and wondering if he would have the strength required of him to defeat the Dark Lord._

_She hugged him fiercely. "Harry James Potter, I don't _think _we can have that future. I know we will have that future. I know it because you are the bravest, the most powerful, and the most dedicated man on the face of the earth, and you will not stop until we are all safe."_

_"I love you so much, Ginny."_

_She closed her eyes, savoring the words. "Sometimes I still have trouble believing you really mean me when you say that. I still wonder if someone else isn't in the bed with us."_

_"I don't want to share a bed with anyone else," he said passionately. "My bed, my body, my heart, and my love are all yours, forever."_

_"I love you too," she said solemnly. "Sometimes it's overwhelming."_

_"I know the feeling."_

_"So, about the babies," she said, grinning. "When do you want to get started on those?"_

_He bent down, nuzzling her neck. "Oh, I'd say right about now."_

###

His one bedroom flat was barren. He and Ginny had barely moved in when she and her entire family were slaughtered at a family dinner at the Burrow. Harry and Hermione had both been absent – Harry working with Kingsley on some training exercises, and Hermione training as an Unspeakable. That day they had lost the loves of both their lives, and it had been a flood of grief.

Arthur was the only Weasley to survive, except for Percy, who at the time was still not speaking to his family. He had eventually been killed as well – when the Ministry had finally fallen to Voldemort. Riddle wanted a clean transition, and declared all blood-traitor, Muggle-born, and Half-blood personnel be executed immediately. Arthur had long since stopped going to work and was living at Grimmauld Place, but the Order hadn't had time to arrange for Percy's safety.

He still lived in the same flat two years later, though his original lease had been month to month. He and Ginny hadn't planned on living there long, just rented it as an in between until they started their real family.

And now he had no family.

Harry slumped on the sofa, preparing for another night on the couch. Since Ginny's death he could barely face their bedroom, and spent more and more time passed out on the couch.

Tonight he thought about the implications of his meeting with Hermione. Things had been odd since their encounter a fortnight ago, but he wasn't worried about their friendship. He knew it was an expression of their loneliness, and he also knew he couldn't have gained any comfort from anyone else. No one else knew what he was feeling – no one else had any comfort to gain from him.

If he knew Hermione, there was no use in arguing with her about her plans for after his departure for the past. She would do as she wanted anyway, and she was such a skilled witch that she probably had already concocted a million different scenarios in order to fulfill her objectives. He wished it hadn't come to this, but there was no way to cover all of his vases. If he wanted Ginny, and if he wanted Hermione and Ron to be happier together longer, there was only one thing to be done.

Harry knew he would have to make it back to the past, to Ginny, and to victory. Voldemort didn't exist anymore, which proved – and which at some points during the second war had seemed impossible – that Voldemort was not immortal nor invincible.

###

"I'm going to put you to sleep, Harry. We'll let you get comfortable and then do a brain scan. We'd rather do this while you aren't dreaming. Then, we'll cast the spell, and hopefully you should wake up in your other body. You might be a little disoriented at first, but we think you'll be able to get your bearings rather quickly."

He nodded his head, reclining on the scratchy cot underneath him.

"Remember, Harry, you aren't to use magic. You aren't to kill Pettigrew, and you aren't to do anything to provoke a failure of the wards around the Dursley home. The only people who can be in on the secret are Ron, Ginny, and me. Dumbledore should know too, I suppose. Practice your Occlumency daily; it's very important to keep Snape and Dumbledore from your mind until you're ready to reveal your secret."

"I want to tell you when we get to Hogwarts, but what if you don't believe me?" he asked, feeling nervous.

She paused, biting her lip. "Tell me John is the greatest Beatle," she grinned. "No one _ever_ knew that about me. I've read Hogwarts, A History eighteen times in my life; not even Ron knew I loved the Beatles. If you tell me that, I'll believe you."

"I'll miss you, you know," he said. "It may be a while before I can actually be your friend again."

She smiled at him. "Everything will happen in good time. As long as you help Ron and I get together before we're seventeen, I'll be happy."

"It's a deal."

She looked over to the plain, brunette man standing on the other side of Harry's cot. "Are we all ready Howard?"

Howard looked over the notes he was carrying on a clipboard in his hand. He scratched the top of his head with his hand. "Everything looks perfect, but I can't really be sure exactly when we're sending him. If we had a more detailed map of the past…" He collapsed into a fit of incoherent mumbling.

Hermione rolled her eyes, mouthing, "Scientists," to Harry.

"Take the potion," she said, patting his arm.

She handed him the goblet, which held steaming ruby red liquid. He put it up to his lips and jumped when the liquid was not scalding hot as he had expected, but freezing cold. It tasted a little bit like leftover pumpkin juice, a cup of it that had been diluted with water. He grimaced at it, but downed the goblet anyway, earning a nod of approval from Hermione.

"Good bye, Harry," she said, a tinge of sadness creeping into her tone.

He was already feeling groggy; his limbs prickly and uncomfortable. His eyelids were beginning to droop, but he managed to glance over at Howard, who was turned slightly away from the cot, studying his notes, and flicking his wand in what Harry could only identify as practice. He looked back at Hermione, who was looking straight at him, her wand at the ready, too.

The last thing he saw before the Dreamless Sleep Potion kicked in was his best friend's face. He tried to smile back at her, but he couldn't manage it. A redhead invaded his thoughts, and he couldn't help but picture one of the last conversations they'd had together. _I know we will have that future._

With that comforting thought, he fell asleep.

Hermione turned to her partner, raising her eyebrows. "Are you ready?" she asked, stroking Harry's forehead.

Howard nodded. The two pointed their wands at Harry, thought the nonverbal incantation, and then each of them stumbled. The drain on her magic was tremendous; Hermione felt like the very essence of herself, that part of her that had always been tucked away in her bosom, had been consumed by the magic.

"Is - is this supposed to happen?" she asked Howard, who was lying on his stomach beside her.

He raised his head tentatively. "I have a feeling we're about to be wiped off the face of the universe."

"I hope you had a good childhood, Howard," she said dryly. "It looks like its back to the past for us."

"I have a feeling we'll meet again sometime, Hermione," Howard said, smiling weakly.

"I have no doubt about that."

The world suddenly toppled, and the air was squeezed from Hermione's lungs. She gasped for air, but none was forthcoming. She smiled, happy she hadn't had to end her own life, and glad she trusted Howard's expert opinion. Just as a ten-year-old boy was waking up in a cupboard in Surrey, the world as she knew it swallowed her.

"_Up! Get up! Now!" His aunt was outside the door._

Harry Potter woke up from another dream, but this one wasn't about a giant and a motorcycle. This one had also happened, and this one was something he most certainly could not wake up from. Stretching, Harry Potter looked down at his nearly eleven-year-old self and grinned. His Ginny was alive! His Ron was alive!

_"Are you up yet?"_

He felt like singing. "Nearly," he chirped.


	2. When I Grow Up

**Revised as of 9/20/09. Bill was killed at the end of sixth year, so he couldn't be at the Burrow for Christmas in 1997.**

The grin slipped from his face abruptly. Aunt Petunia had unlatched the door of the cupboard, which Harry promptly threw open and ran down the hall to the bathroom. Dudley hadn't yet come downstairs, so Harry didn't bother to lock the door as he collapsed on his knees at the toilet, and retched.

"What's wrong with you, boy?" questioned Aunt Petunia from the hall.

His answer came in another wave of nausea, and he threw up again, this time missing the porcelain of the bowl by inches, heaving into the trash can at the last possible second. _Damn it, Hermione! You didn't say I'd be puking my guts out!_

"Don't just kneel there," Petunia screeched. "Clean it up! Vernon!"

Harry's uncle rounded the corner of the hallway, a piece of egg hanging from his moustache. "Yes, dear, what is it?"

"The boy's sick," she said shortly. "He won't be going with us to the zoo today."

Vernon looked outraged. His face was turning red; a sure sign a yelling fit was possible in the near future. He clenched his fists, looking into the bathroom at Harry, as though he was sure his wife was lying about him being sick. "I'm sure as hell not leaving him here in this house!" he ranted, vein in his forehead throbbing.

"Well we can't have him retching in the _new_ car," she hissed, turning pale at the thought.

Harry resisted the urge to say anything, remembering he wasn't allowed to use magic, and that if he decided to get smart with Uncle Vernon it might come to blows. As an Auror and lonely, two hundred pound man, Harry wouldn't have had any trouble kicking the shit out of Vernon Dursley. The fact remained; he was a scrawny ten-year-old, and he was physically, mentally, and magically weakened by his mind being rocketed at subatomic speeds into the past.

He threw up again, this time just yellow bile. Despite himself, tears burst his eyes, which were firmly shut. _Bugger me! What if I die without changing anything?_ Panic surged up, overloading his senses, and he collapsed, purging one more time on the frilly pink carpet beneath him.

"Dumbledore…" he murmured.

He was already well on his way to being unconscious, so he missed the look of utter panic his aunt threw his uncle.

###

Harry awoke some hours later, on a familiar lumpy mattress, in the smallest bedroom of Number Four Privet Drive. He stretched his aching limbs, and rubbed his temples, nursing a migraine of epic proportions. The unrepaired alarm clock way lying on the shelf alongside a few dozen dusty books, and Harry struggled to remember just how he had fixed it before. He didn't have a watch, but looking out of the window, it looked to be dusk.

He rolled over in his bed, thinking about Ginny. The fact that she was alive was the greatest reward he could imagine – even if it meant his vomiting and headache never ended. He imagined the way she would look when he saw her King's Cross; those big brown eyes and the waist length auburn hair. She was a beautiful child, a beautiful teenager, and a beautiful bride. He felt an aching to see her that overwhelmed any other impulse.

A knock at the door invaded his thoughts. He hesitated, before calling out to the guest, and the door opened, revealing Aunt Petunia. She walked into the bedroom carrying a tray with a cup of soup resting on it. She sat on the side of his bed, sitting the tray down on the desk.

She raised a tentative hand to his forehead, the muscles around her left eye twitching with the effort exerted in not frowning. She managed to keep her mouth in a straight, pursed line, but Harry could tell she received no pleasure in having contact with him.

"You don't have a fever," she said stiffly.

He ignored her accusation, asking "How long was I asleep?"

At his question she could no longer contain her frown. "Four hours. And the loo is quite the mess, I'll have you know. You'll be cleaning it tomorrow in addition to your other chores."

He had expected as much. There really wasn't much else to be done; Hermione and he had decided he should wait out the holidays at Privet Drive, because he had no real contacts in the future.

"You slept through the zoo."

"I'm sorry to have caused you any trouble," Harry said insincerely.

"Yes, well, Dudley and Piers are out to dinner with the Polkiss'."

He looked out the window, and at the full moon peeking in. Remus would be transforming at that very moment, becoming a creature. Harry wondered when exactly his letter for Hogwarts was coming - he couldn't remember all the details of the past yet. Hermione had assured him it was normal, that times and dates might get a little confused, but she thought that was for the best. If Harry knew everything it would be much harder for him to keep up his charade.

She cleared her throat. "Your uncle and I have decided to give you this room, but you aren't to leave until your chores are done, and the summer holiday begins. Dudley is very upset about the change."

If Harry remembered correctly – which was still a toss up, honestly – Dudley did not take kindly to having his room shanghaied by the scrawny orphan who lived normally in the downstairs cupboard.

"Thanks," he muttered, laying back down and turning over on his side. He was asleep by the time she had exited the room and shut the door.

###

_"I thought we'd never escape your mum!" he exclaimed, taking a seat next to his fiancée on the Burrow's garden wall. It was Christmas time, and snow fell in hesitating flakes from the clear blue sky._

_She looked up at him, grinning. "Me either! She's driving me crazy, love. Do you think we could just elope?" she asked hopefully. "I honestly do not want to bother with invitations and dress robes and Auntie Muriel's Goblin made tiara."_

_He put an arm around her. "I don't know, you don't think a tiara would compliment my green wedding robes?"_

_"Oh, yes, it would look lovely with your eyes."_

_Laughing, he leaned in for a kiss. "What do you reckon; do you think it's safe to go back inside?"_

_She whimpered, pulling him closer so that his mouth was within kissing distance from hers. "Oh, no, Mr. Potter," she replied breathily. "There's probably something really scary inside. Ron probably wants to ensure I'm still a virgin on my wedding night."_

_He nuzzled her neck, pushing her down from the wall and onto the layer of fresh snow. "The Boy Who Lived never lies, does he? I suppose I can't go in there until everyone's safely asleep. What do you want to do to occupy our time?"_

_She grinned cheekily. "I think I could keep your mind occupied, Potter, if that's what you're worried about."_

_He pulled away just enough to take in her flushed face and brilliant hair, fanned out underneath her like flames. "Merlin, you're beautiful! I never underestimate your abilities, my love; I know you have more tricks up your sleeve than you let on."_

_A look of serenity possessed her features. "I love you, you know that?"_

###

It took time to adjust to life on Number Four. He hadn't lived there since his seventeenth birthday; at which time he went to stay at the Burrow with the Weasleys. After the last horcrux had been revealed, and it was Harry who had to die, he and Ginny hadn't been worried about the wrath of Molly Weasley, and had moved in the flat together. Their marriage had come soon after, and then after her death the days and months had sort of melded together. All in all, he had almost forgotten the isolation he had led in his previous life.

Over the next few weeks, after Harry was finally allowed out of his bedroom, there was an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. He would become dizzy, stumble, and often end up kneeling by the toilet in the upstairs bathroom. His Aunt, who had become briefly tolerable during his illness, was back to her frosty self.

_"Get the mail, Dudley,"_ Uncle Vernon said one morning. Harry, a piece of toast halfway into his mouth, froze, the now familiar nausea creeping up on him again.

_"Make Harry get it."_

_"Get the mail, Harry."_

Harry got up unsteadily, and walked from the kitchen, missing the curious glance his Aunt had sent him.

Walking down the pristine hallway of Number Four, Harry couldn't brush aside the feeling of foreboding slowly possessing him. His palms were sweating as he approached the letter box, and he gulped when his eyes met the familiar parchment of his first ever Hogwarts letter. He reached out with a tentative hand, and collected the mail.

Mr. H. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

His body stomach revolted and he threw up again, falling to his knees on Aunt Petunia's rug.

###

"If he is going to be ill all the bloody time, he'll not be welcome in this house, Petunia! It's bad enough those _ruddy _letters keep coming. I'll not have one in this house," Uncle Vernon raged, his voice jerking Harry roughly from his sleep.

"I don't see what you would like me to do about it," Petunia snapped. "It isn't as though the old crackpot didn't warn us it would happen. He will have to go away to school; they'll never leave us alone if we don't send him."

"I WON'T HAVE HIS UNNATURALNESS IN THIS HOUSE!" Vernon yelled, pounding his fist against something; Harry assumed it was the wall. It sounded as though they were conferencing in the hall just outside the door to Harry's bedroom.

"You'll wake Dudders," she said sharply. "I suppose you'll want to wait until the entire house is covered in the letters? Do you have any idea how that would look to the neighbors? Does any _normal _house have letters rushing out of the chimney?"

A burst of air signaled Vernon Dursley's deflating anger. "I suppose you're right. But what can we do? Tell the little freak he's as abnormal as we always suspected?"

"That's exactly what we will do. We'll give him the letter, and then next week drop him off in London to get his school things."

"I am not giving the _bloody hooligan _money to learn magic tricks!"

It was silent for a long moment, just the heavy breathing of Uncle Vernon in a rage intruding upon the stillness. Harry, still lying in the bed, had moved only his eyes in the long minutes since his awakening.

"I have a key," Aunt Petunia whispered. "_He_ sent it to me, along with the letter. He said it opened a vault in a…freak bank somewhere. My sister set up a fund for the boy to attend school."

Vernon cleared his throat. "Do you suppose…do you think we could access it?" Harry didn't have to see it to know there was a greedy look in his eyes that was very much the same was the one Dudley got when he was looking at any amount of junk food.

"I highly doubt we could even get into the establishment, being _normal_ and all," she answered stiffly. "Either way, I don't imagine there's very much money in it. Potter being the good-for-nothing he was, he couldn't have managed to put away much of anything."

Harry felt his ears heat at the mention of his father, but he practiced some breathing exercises from his Auror training. Tonks had made it into a sort of game. _Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out._ The number of even breaths he could take without breaking the gentle rhythm would gain him a certain amount of points.

"I suppose you're right," Vernon said gruffly. "What will we tell the neighbors? The hoodlum can't very well drop off the face of the Earth."

_Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out._

"We can say he went to a school for troublesome boys," said his Aunt.

"That will do, I guess. Something about 'incurably criminal,' that would sound about right."

_Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out._

"It will have to be some sort of religious institution," Petunia insisted.

"And it would be better if it were a probation center or something, somewhere with top security," said Uncle Vernon. To Harry it sounded as though he actually wished there were such a place available to send his nephew.

"St. Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys," concluded Petunia with a tone of triumph.

"Well, then, go in and give him the ruddy letter."

His uncle stomped off down the stairs. Petunia hesitated; Harry could tell by the sound of the door handle jiggling that she was turning it over and over, but not wanting to come inside his bedroom. He coughed, to let her know he was awake, hoping to speed along the process. It did the trick, and a second later she opened the door and walked uneasily into the room.

"I've brought you something," she said unnecessarily, having already shoved the envelope into his hand. She raised a hand to tame her already perfect blond hair, and straightened her skirt.

He opened the letter eagerly, skipping the shock he had felt the last time, when the address on the front had changed. Instead of 'cupboard' it now read 'the smallest bedroom,' but Harry wasn't really interested in what was _outside_ the letter.

It was very familiar, and soon Harry was at the end of the booklist. Remembering Hermione's warning, he looked up at his aunt with wide eyes. "Is this true?" he asked, ignoring her flinch at the question. "Am I a…"

"Don't say it!" she snapped, looking out of the window anxiously. "It's true. You are a freak, and you'll have to go to school."

"It doesn't say where to get all of this stuff," he commented.

"I don't know where, exactly, but your uncle will take you to London next week and you will get your supplies," she said, pulling a bronze key from her pocket and handing it to him. "Here is a key to a…an account in a bank. Your mother saved some money so that you could get to school."

He took the key from her, brow furrowing at the new inconsistency in the timelines. His aunt was being as unpleasant as ever, but there was something else peeking through her angry exterior that Harry was having trouble identifying. She was as uptight about magic as he remembered, and wasn't motherly in any sense of the word, but perhaps there was something in her character he had missed as an abandoned eleven-year-old.

"Thank you," he murmured, setting aside the letter and pulling the quilt back over his body.

She left the room without another word, shutting the door with a firm snap.

###

The morning of Harry's solitary expedition to Diagon Alley was nerve wracking. His nausea was gone now, but he couldn't tell if its absence was a result of the obvious divergence from his original timeline, or if he was simply getting his bearings. He began to remember the tiny things – like the name of the couple Harry would frighten out of business dealings with Vernon in the summer of his second year at Hogwarts, the Masons – and hadn't had a spell of dizziness since the day he received his Hogwarts letter.

His uncle was silent during the entire car ride, dressed in his work suit and his face stuck in his trademark furious sneer. He dropped Harry off quite far away from the Grunnings building, hoping none of his bosses or underlings saw him with Harry in the car. It worked out perfectly for Harry, whose destination was in the older part of London, and just a short walk from the old warehouse, in front of which Vernon stopped the silver car.

Some time later, after furiously brushing his fringe down to cover his scar, Harry entered the Leaky Cauldron. The old building greeted him in a much different way as last time, most notably for the fact that he did not have Hagrid exposing him here. Instead, he walked gladly through the half-empty pub inconspicuously, and out the back door, coming face to face with a familiar brick wall.

He hadn't a wand yet, but he was uncomfortable going back into the pub to ask Tom the barkeep for help. He didn't want to deal with having the man ask his name, and then have him gasp and shake his hand profusely. No, he didn't want to do any of that.

And then, a voice intruded upon his reflection, and his heart stopped.

It was a whining voice, a little higher than the one Harry remembered, but there was no doubt in Harry's mind that it belonged to Ron Weasley, his best friend.

_"Mum! Why couldn't we floo to Diagon Alley?"_

_"Because, dear, Ginny doesn't feel well. I don't think her poor tummy could handle spinning around in the embers."_

_"Mum!" _protested a voice that made Harry's heart thump painfully. "_I'm not sick! I feel fine!"_

Harry spun around and faced six Weasleys; Molly, Fred and George, Percy, Ron, and beautiful nine-year-old Ginny. His eyes widened and he thought he might collapse under the weight of his joy. He hadn't seen her face except for in his dreams for long years and it was a wonder he didn't grab her and hug her right then and there.

Mrs. Weasley, having spotted the boy in ragged clothes, smiled kindly. She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "Hello, dear, I'm Molly Weasley, and these are my children." She gestured to her brood, rattling off their names in such quick succession, Harry wasn't sure he would have caught them all if he didn't already know everyone so intimately.

"Are you having troubles?" she asked, patting him on the shoulder warmly.

Harry had to work hard to school his expression, keeping it as innocent as possible. "Yes, ma'am, I haven't a wand, and I can't get my school things."

She smiled at him. "That's quite alright; I know how to get though. But where are your parents? Are you Muggle-born?"

"No, ma'am, my aunt told me both my parents were…could use magic." He tried to hide the vague lie in his voice.

"Oh, and your surname?"

He hesitated. "Potter. I'm Harry Potter."

Behind Molly, he heard a squeal that could only have come from Ginny. She peaked around her mum, excitement brightening her already radiant brown eyes. He tried not to smile, and look somewhat flustered by the attention, but his insides had turned mushy to be once again the object of her scrutiny.

"Ginevra Weasley, stop gawking this minute!" her mother scolded, then dug in her robes and pulled out her wand.

"It would be my pleasure to show you around Diagon Alley, Harry. I'm sure you could use some directions, at the very least?" She tapped various bricks until the wall rearranged itself and they all stood at the entrance to Diagon Alley.

"Thank you," Harry said. A voice in the back of his head, which sounded remarkably like Hermione, was warning him not to stray too far from the original timeline, but he brushed past it. "My aunt also gave me a key. She said I was to go to a bank?"

Mrs. Weasley's eyes narrowed. "Yes, that's correct. Gringotts is our wizard bank. Why didn't your aunt come with you today?"

"Er…She and I don't get along very well," he said uneasily.

Her expression softened. "It so happens we're on the way to Gringotts as well. We'll just head there now."

She herded the rest of the kids through the gateway and onto the cobbled streets. Harry quickly fell behind Mrs. Weasley, who was grasping Ginny's hand firmly, pulling her down the street. Soon enough, Harry found himself walking alongside his best friend – Ron.

"Hey, I'm Harry," he said timidly.

Ron's ears were already an interesting shade of pink. "I'm Ron," he mumbled.

"Are you going to Hogwarts this year, too?"

Ron nodded, relieved, perhaps, to have an easy topic of discussion. "Yeah, all of us go to Hogwarts, except my little sister Ginny. She's only nine."

"She's very pretty," Harry admitted before he could stop himself. Thankfully, Ron didn't seem to think much about it.

"I guess," he said, shrugging.

Grasping for another way to move the conversation, "You've got loads of older brothers; you must know all about Hogwarts. I only found out I'm a wizard last week."

Ron's face brightened. "Yeah, I know a few things," he said with a grin. "Do you know what house you'll be in?"

Harry pretended to look curious as they walked further into Diagon Alley, now in sight of Gringotts. "Houses? What're those?"

"That's where you live when you're at Hogwarts. My whole family's been in Gryffindor, house of the Brave for as long as anyone can remember. That's where I'm going too."

"That sounds like pretty cool. What are the other ones?"

"There are three others; Ravenclaw for the kids who are really bookish, Hufflepuffs are supposed to be hardworking and loyal, and Slytherins," he finished with a look of disdain. "Gryffindors and Slytherins never get along. Loads of dark wizards were in Slytherin when they went to school."

Ron looked as though he was going to say something else, but they had arrived at Gringotts, and Harry was hustled to the desk by Mrs. Weasley, who put him in touch with a teller. The Goblin looked down at Harry dangerously, but remembering his Auror training and his experience with Goblins after the war, Harry looked the Goblin straight in the eye without flinching.

"I, Harry James Potter, wish to make a withdrawal. Here is my key," he added, before the Goblin could ask.

The Goblin looked suspicious, but nodded. "Griphook! Take Mr. Potter to his vault."

Harry followed the surly Goblin named Griphook, waving pleasantly to Mrs. Weasley, who was in the process of her own transactions.

The Weasleys were gone by the time Harry had filled his money bag and examined his vault. It was simply the trust vault; Harry knew he had much more money in investments and the Potter family vault was loaded with treasures made not only of gold. There were tapestries and family histories he had had neither the time nor the desire to examine while in his other life. This time, though, he would do all of those things, with Ginny.

He found Hedwig in a window at the Eeylops Owl Emporium, hooting at him as though they were already the greatest of friends. He bought her before another wizard, who had been eyeing her for his young daughter, had the opportunity, not feeling in the least guilty. In his mind _he_ already owned her.

Sooner than he had expected, the day came to a close. It was four forty-five when he finally made it out of the vile smelling apothecary, and he hurried out into London with all of his things except Hedwig stored in his new Hogwarts trunk, which he had had charmed to have wheels. It was ten past five when he made it back to the spot where Uncle Vernon had dropped him off. It was five thirty before Uncle Vernon's car pulled over to the sidewalk.

"Get in, boy, I haven't all night!"

###

_Harry lay back on his new bed wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, the cotton sheets around him felt ever so nice on his skin. He closed his eyes, listening to the vaguely interpretable words of two important women in his life. He hated to be the cause of strife between his girlfriend and her family, especially during war time, but he couldn't help his selfishness where Ginny was concerned. Living with her was brilliant, and he was never giving it up._

_She walked into their bedroom, seething. Discarding her heavy dressing gown, she revealed her tank top and short pajamas; her face still the picture of irritation. "She's furious," she said shortly, climbing into bed with him._

_He rubbed small circles on her upper arm. "I'm sorry, love. Should I talk with her?"_

_Snuggling into his arms and raising the duvet so she could slide underneath, she shook her head. "Don't bother, Harry, there's no reasoning with her. No matter that I'm seventeen and a legal adult; she thinks I'm making a huge mistake."_

_He regarded her seriously. "Do you think you're making a huge mistake?"_

_She smiled, giving him a brief kiss on the chin. "How could being with you and loving you be a mistake? No, I don't think our age has anything to do with it. And what kills me is that she isn't even peaked about our age! If we were married she wouldn't be throwing a fit. I tried to explain it to her, but…"_

_Suddenly aware this was the moment he had been waiting for, he climbed out of the bed and began rummaging in the drawer to his bedside table._

_"Harry, what are you doing?" she called from the bed._

_"I brought this from my vault weeks ago, but I didn't know what would be the right time to ask you," he said sheepishly, opening the tiny jeweled bag he was storing the ring in. He held it upside down in his palm and held his hand out to her, a beautiful golden engagement ring lying on it. She squeaked and pulled him in for an intense kiss._

_"It was my mum's," he said breathlessly, when they had parted. "And I want you to wear it, forever. Would you marry me?"_

_He thought he would be blinded by the light radiating from her. She looked at him with a look of utter devotion, and said quite seriously, "Mr. Potter, if that ring isn't on my finger in the next two seconds, you will severely regret it."_

_He slipped the ring onto her finger, grinning like mad. "Does that mean you will?"_

_She laughed and kissed him. "Yes! I will marry you, you thick prat!"_

###

Another owl had come a few days after Harry's excursion into Diagon Alley, with a ticket for the Hogwarts Express inside. Uncle Vernon grumbled about the time and the cost of driving Harry out to London, but one look from Aunt Petunia silenced him. She had been extra cold towards Harry since she gave him the key to his vault, but she did not allow Dudley or Vernon to be overly cruel to him.

It took time for Harry to adjust to the life of an underprivileged eleven-year-old, so used to his previous existence as a respected Auror and national hero. He was used to having interns, no matter what protest he offered, getting him his tea. Now he was serving the Dursleys.

His things on his trolley, Harry glanced goodbye to the Dursleys, who were already getting back into their car. Spotting the correct barrier, he picked up speed and shot through the wall between platforms nine and ten. The scarlet steam engine welcomed him home, and before he knew it he was lugging his things onto the train.

_"Want a hand?" _Fred asked Harry, grinning. Harry nodded, against his will remembering the incident which had led to Fred's eventual death.

_"Oy, Fred! C'mere and help!" _The two heaved his trunk into the cabinet of the nearest compartment, and when they were done only Harry was panting.

_"Thanks,"_ he said. The twins opened their mouth, no doubt, to say something simultaneously, but their mother's voice floated through the open window.

_"Fred? George? Are you there?" The twins hopped off the train._

Harry didn't bother to listen to the family's conversation, just waited for the train to start. It eventually did, and Harry felt an overwhelming sense of peace radiating from his body. He was finally going home. Ginny wouldn't be around for a while, but he had his other friends, and many things to accomplish before he could begin to know her again.

Another redhead poked his head into the compartment. "You mind if I sit with you?" he asked Harry. "Everywhere else is full."

Harry grinned and gestured to the seat across from him. "Say, Ron, you know that Quidditch store?"

"Yeah," Ron said after relieving himself of his trunk.

"Well, I've never actually heard of Quidditch before. Could you tell me about it?"

Ron's face lit up again. "Blimey! Where do I start? Quidditch is great!"

They talked about Quidditch and the Chudley Cannons, and then proceeded to show Harry his rat, Scabbers. Seeing the rat after so many years sent a white hot bolt of rage through Harry, but he managed a weak grin as Ron tried to turn him yellow.

It was comforting in a way, that some things, no matter what you do, never, ever change.


	3. Throwing Stones

**Revised as of 9/22/09. I've eliminated the OC and checked for continuity errors.**

"_Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," _said a busy haired, bossy girl Harry had known almost his whole life. She looked as confident as he remembered from that first encounter – but this time he recognized the subtle signs of self-consciousness. She looked from Harry to Ron, and her ears turned just slightly pink to find Ron's eyes on her.

By this time, Ron's temper was running thin. The sweets Harry had bought were long gone, and his stomach was rumbling. "We've already _told_ Neville we don't know where his toad is. Though, if I had a toad I would've lost him as soon as I got onto the train." He looked down at a still brown Scabbers sighing in disgust.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she announced. "I never knew I was a witch until I got my letter, but Neville says his grandmum is magical.

"This is Ron Weasley," Harry introduced. "And I'm-"

As he expected, she interrupted him. "I know who _you _are, of course. You're Harry Potter. I've read all about you. You're in _Modern Magical History _and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts _and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century._"

"Right. So…" Harry said, feeling awkward. "Does anyone have any idea what house you'll be in when you get to school?"

Ron perked up. "I know I'll be in Gryffindor," he said, though with less confidence than in Diagon Alley. It seemed as they moved closer to the actual sorting ceremony the more nervous Ron became.

"I thought Gryffindor sounded like the best of all," Hermione admitted. "But Ravenclaw is supposed to be the house of intellect. It sounds quite lovely, don't you both think?"

Ron grimaced. "Ravenclaw? I wouldn't want to be in there."

"And why ever not?" Hermione snapped.

"I think what Ron means," Harry said reasonably. "Is that all his family is in Gryffindor. He wouldn't want to disappoint."

"Oh. That sort of tradition is very valuable."

"I think Gryffindor sounds brilliant myself," Harry declared.

Hermione smiled politely. "Well, at any rate, we will be at school soon. You both better change into your school clothes. We have to be in them before the sorting ceremony," she said bossily. "Whatever that is."

Ron turned green. "My brother George told me we have to wrestle a troll…You don't suppose it's true, do you?" he asked Harry.

Harry pretended to look frightened. "I'm not sure…"

"Oh, I highly doubt that. But there are certain to be spells we need to perform before they let us in, don't you think? I know just a few simple charms like _reparo, alohamora, impervis, _and of course _lumos_, which is really the most simple spell a witch or wizard can learn. I wonder which we'll have to use…"

With that comforting thought, she left the compartment.

"She's mental," Ron said, pulling on his second hand robes.

_What if she does go to Ravenclaw?_ Harry thought, in a panic. _This could mess everything up! The whole entire future could dissolve if she isn't in Gryffindor! How the hell did I let Hermione talk me into this rubbish without a detailed outline?_

And then the thought of himself having to coax _Hermione Granger_ _Weasley _into creating an outline for anything made him chuckle, which earned an odd look from Ron.

"I'm still thinking about that Donovan bloke trying to fly through the center hoop," he said, laughing just a little too hard in his discomfort. Ron chuckled as well, and soon the atmosphere was much more relaxed.

That was, until the compartment door opened yet again, revealing three boys Harry had had the misfortune of knowing in his old life. Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, strutted into the compartment.

_"Is it true?"_ Malfoy asked with his nose in the air. "_They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"_

Harry nodded coolly in affirmation. He frowned at Crabbe and Goyle, now not sure exactly why his previous self had been so afraid of them. They were big, yes, but it would be much easier to sidestep one of their blows than a skinnier boy like Malfoy.

_"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle. And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."_

Again, Ron sniggered.

"Doesn't that mean Dragon?" asked Harry.

Ron turned pink with laughter.

_"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford. You'll soon find out some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."_ He held out his hand to shake.

Harry looked down at the hand for some time. He wondered if this was the exact moment when he had turned Draco Malfoy into a future Death Eater. Could one simple slight have really made that much of a difference in Draco's life?

He took the hand, but frowned at Malfoy. "We're all friends in this compartment, Draco. I'm sure there are plenty of things I could learn from someone like you, but Ron's my mate and I can't let you have a go at his family in front of me."

Draco looked down at their hands before pulling away. "You think you can befriend everyone at Hogwarts, Potter?"

Harry shook his head. "No, but I know an ally when I see one, and I think a truce before we even get to Hogwarts would be productive, now don't you? I have a feeling you're going to be a Slytherin, right?"

Malfoy nodded.

"If we don't have to worry about getting at each other, we'd have more time for more important things."

"Like what?" The young boy looked intrigued.

Harry grinned, pretending to consider. "Sneaking out to learn _everything _about the castle, our classes, and of course making our house Quidditch teams."

Malfoy nodded again. "You're right, Potter," he said, holding out his hand again. "It's a truce."

He looked over at Ron, who was looking at Harry with a mixture of abject horror and admiration. "I'm sorry, Weasley, I guess purebloods are purebloods, after all." He held out his hand, and surprisingly, Ron took it.

###

_"Ginny-love?"_

_She swatted his hand sleepily, burrowing further into his chest. Her red hair was thrown over her shoulder, exposing the pale skin of her neck. He took advantage of this, nuzzling her insistently._

_She gave up. "What do you want?" she murmured._

_"I love you."_

_She opened one eye, but she gave him a practiced glare. "You woke me up to say you love me?" she asked, gazing up at him blearily._

_It took her a second to pick up on his despondent mood. "Are you sure you want to marry me?"_

_She frowned. "What are you talking about?"_

_He shrugged, pulling away and resting his back against the headboard. They always went to bed with two pillows each, but somehow she always managed to steal his; shoving one under her back, and using one to cover her head._

_"Harry Potter, what are you thinking about?"_

_He sighed. "It's so dangerous to be around me, Ginny. Are you sure you want to take the risk? I don't want you to regret this."_

_She was too tired to sugar coat. "I'd have to be a pretty stupid witch to not want to marry you."_

_With narrowed eyes, he asked, "Why is that?"_

_"Because, as I hear it, you have the cutest little arse in the magical world," she deadpanned._

_He didn't smile. "When I broke up with you sixth year…"_

_"You were being an idiot, weren't you?" she asked rhetorically. "And it took me all of three days in the same house with you to convince you of the truth. And that truth is this: we are _meant_ to be together, no matter what that snake charming, anti-social bastard thinks he can do to us. I'm not letting you go, Potter. So you may as well get some sleep; we're getting married in ten hours."_

_He pulled her in for a kiss. "That's what I needed to hear."_

_"Cold-feet have no place in this bed, Harry. We're getting married because I love you, and you love me, and when people love each other, live in the same flat, and have lots of raunchy sex together, they get married." She grinned._

_###_

"_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._

As Millicent Bulstrode walked up to the stool to be sorted, Harry moved away from Ron (who was again cursing his brothers for their fable about the troll wrestling) and approached Hermione, who was chatting with a shy Neville.

He came up behind her and tapped her arm. She turned, looking at him expectantly, and he jerked his head to the edge of the group. He didn't have much time, and he needed some space to speak with Hermione alone, which was hard to come by in the close knit group of first years. He pushed past a trembling Neville, with Hermione following him suspiciously.

"Do you have a question about the sorting?" she asked, frowning.

He leaned in closer. "Hermione, you are going to have to trust me. When you go up to the hat it will consider two houses; Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. I haven't time to explain everything to you, but it is imperative that you tell the hat you want to be in Gryffindor. Can you do this for me?"

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. "John is the greatest Beatle," he told her in a hushed voice. "You have to trust me, Hermione. I will explain everything as soon as we have another moment alone."

Her eyes widened, but she didn't have time to respond. "Granger, Hermione!"

This time her walk was not half so eager. She looked back at Harry fearfully, but put the hat onto her head. The seconds ticked by, Harry's hands curled up into fists. The hat squirmed around on her head, presumably having an interesting discussion with her. Finally its flap opened, and it bellowed, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry felt the air whoosh from his lungs in relief. His fellow classmates climbed onto the stool and were sorted, but Harry didn't really pay attention, until Malfoy took his place. Last time the hat hadn't touched his greasy blonde hair before it was shouting Slytherin. This time, the hat deliberated. Harry didn't have to be a Legilimens to know what two houses the hat was going between. Draco never was the most intelligent – except perhaps in Potions – and never hardworking. There was something different about his interaction with Harry on the train that made him at least consider going into Gryffindor. Of course, the hesitation was momentary, and the hat soon shouted, "SLYTHERIN!"

The minutes passed and McGonagall called his name. The whispers were the same as ever, but Harry was used to them by now. The only thing he was thinking about was ensuring _he_ was sorted into Gryffindor.

The hat was placed on his tiny head, the world once again disappearing underneath the wide brim.

_Oh, my, we've been manipulating time, haven't we Potter?_

"I have been busy," Harry responded.

_All the way from the future? What brings you here, even after the defeat of the Dark Lord? Ah, the wife died, didn't she? You came back for her._

"Yes," Harry whispered. "I came back for her and Ron."

_I think you now know exactly why once upon a time I suggested you go into Slytherin. You can see your own cunning, as plainly as I can. However, this time travel possesses such a noble quality only found in – "_GRYFFINDOR!"

###

The first few weeks of the term were nicer than Harry had ever known at Hogwarts. He hadn't had his duel with Malfoy, which was a problem, but he pushed the thoughts of the future and the past out of his thoughts for a while, and simply concentrated on being a first year student.

Hermione had been shooting him questioning glances, but fortunately he never had the time to speak with her privately. He steered clear of the library for a while, and he was never more grateful for Ron being the person he was than at that time.

Truth be told, he wasn't anxious about the inevitable talk with Hermione, but he certainly wasn't pulling her out of the Great Hall to do it. Hermione being Hermione, he knew she would be evaluating his reactions to people, scolding him on his experimentation with Malfoy, and mortified about his plans to play matchmaker to her and Ron.

Harry didn't feel ready for it yet. It was still two weeks until Halloween, and he felt like he had more than enough time to relax, make the three of them friends again, 'discover' Fluffy, the three headed dog, and knock out a troll before the end of term.

Unfortunately, the entire situation was taken out of his hands in the form of one angry Hermione Granger, cornering him one afternoon after Transfiguration.

"Harry," she said briskly. "You and I are going to go for a walk and you are going to tell me exactly what you were going on about during the Sorting. Why am I in Gryffindor, and why was it so important to you?"

He looked at her seriously. "You aren't going to believe it, but I swear I'm telling you the truth.

"I guess I should start with Voldemort. Do you know who he is?"

She rolled her eyes. _Of course she knows._

"Well, I am supposed to kill him. I haven't been told yet – and that's part of the secret. Well, I guess there isn't any way to really tell you gently so here it goes: You and I worked out a way for me to come back in time. We were twenty-five, and our spouses were both killed, and we decided I needed to come back and change things.

"You and I were best friends. Ron Weasley, too. We knew each other since Halloween, and we were friends until the end. You told me if you didn't believe me I should tell you 'John is the greatest Beatle' because no one else, not even your husband, knew that about you."

He took a deep breath, and waited for her reaction.

Her face was blank. "Well, I suppose that explains all the déjà vu I've been experiencing since I came to Hogwarts. I should have known I've actually studied here before."

"You believe me?" he asked incredulously. "Just like that?"

She gave him a miniscule smile. "My past self was quite right; John is the greatest Beatle, and _no one_ knows that about me."

"That's the best news I've heard all day, 'Mione. I don't know why I put off this conversation; I feel so relieved now that you know. This means you can help me manage everything."

"Manage what?"

"I have to kill Voldemort, save a few people from death, get you and Ron together in time for the Yule Ball during our fourth year," he ignored her snort of disbelief at the mention of Ron, "and make Ginny love me and work out the whole horcrux thing, and collect all the Deathly Hallows before it's too late."

"You want me to help you defeat You-Know-Who? Aren't we a little young for all that?"

"Sure, we are now. But we decided I should try to defeat him earlier this time. I already know all the magic we're taught in school and more – schoolwork won't really occupy me. I have a million things I need to make right before we graduate. I've already started."

She wrinkled her nose and began walking, pulling him towards the library. "Didn't we make a firm plan?"

He shook his head. "You thought my act would appear forced if I knew exactly what I was doing and when. I mean, we had informal plans, and we discussed certain events in great detail, but we never came up with a solid, step by step outline."

She narrowed her eyes. "My past self seems to be lacking in logic. Are you sure you didn't just get a bump on the head?"

"Hermione, the woman in the future was grief stricken. She could barely function. Her husband was dead," he said sadly. "I can't blame her for being a little hasty in trying to carry out our plans."

Chewing on her lip, she said, "I need to read up on time travel. And I want you to walk me through the entire process by the step."

He nodded. "And there are things I have to tell you about the future. Like what we're going to do on the day of Halloween, so that we can become best friends again."

She smiled weakly. "This is a lot to absorb, Harry. We go from not knowing each other to plotting to shape the future in a matter of minutes."

"Time moves fast when you live in the world of Harry Potter," he said simply.

###

_"Happy Birthday, love," he whispered, putting his face into her auburn hair._

_She giggled as he hit a ticklish spot on her neck, turning around to wrap her arms around his waist. "Why, thank you."_

_"How old are you again?" he asked, teasingly. "I don't think anyone mentioned it."_

_She smacked him on the arm. "You prat, you know I'm seventeen today."_

_"Oh! That's right, Ginny-gin-gin is seventeen today! All grown up," he swooned in a perfect imitation of Molly Weasley._

_"Shut it!"_

_Surprisingly, he grew serious. "I have a present for you. I'm not sure you'll like it, but I hope you do."_

_She quirked an eyebrow. "What is it?"_

_He pulled away slightly, digging into the pocket of his everyday black robes. He hadn't grown up in the magical world, but he really did like to do whatever he could to fit in, and he found he actually liked wearing robes._

_He found what he was looking for; a little black box lay in the palm of his hand. She looked at it suspiciously; they had talked about waiting to get married at least until she was fully out of school. There was less than a month before she had to go back to school. Reluctantly, she took the box from him, and opened it.._

_Inside, laid a bronze key. She looked at Harry's face, brow furrowed. "What's this?"_

_He smiled at her. "There's no telling how much time we have, Ginny. I love you, and I want you with me, all the time. There is your last year at school to contend with, but I think we can make it work. I'm not proposing – but I want you to move in with me. I rented a flat, and it's all furnished. You could stay there, the rest of the summer – we only have a few weeks left anyway – and then when you come home for Christmas, you'll go there with me, and then you won't have to completely start from scratch when you finish Hogwarts. What do you say?" He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves, and watched her anxiously._

_Her eyes were wide. "You want me to move in with you?"_

_"Yes."_

_Before he knew it, he was captured in a warm embrace, Ginny's lips kissing him hungrily. "This is fantastic!" she proclaimed, kissing him again._

_"You really want to?"_

_She climbed into his lap, hugging him securely. "I really, really want to move in with you. I'm not ready for marriage yet, but I definitely want to be with you. Be warned thought, I may end up like mum and start yelling at you for dirty socks on the floor!"_

_"I don't care if you shout at me nonstop. I want you there."_

###

_"It's no wonder no one can stand her,_" Ron ranted to harry on their way out of Charms. "_She's a nightmare, honestly!"_

Just then, Hermione brushed past them, feigning tears, but winking at Harry when they locked eyes. He looked pointedly at Ron, who looked extremely uncomfortable at having made Hermione cry, and definitely did not suspect the whole thing had been plotted.

Just as the Halloween pudding was appearing on the table, Quirrell stumbled into the Great Hall, shouting about a troll. Harry immediately pulled Ron to the side, barely avoiding Percy the Prefect's hawk-like gaze, and told him about hearing Hermione was in the girls' bathroom.

"She doesn't know about the troll!"

The two first year boys scurried down the hallway to the girls' lavatory, hurrying when they heard the troll's footsteps. Again, Ron locked the troll into the very door Hermione was behind, and again the troll had nearly trashed the entire bathroom. Harry's wand-in-the-nose trick did no better than the time before, and it was again up to Ron to knock the troll out with its own club.

When they were confronted by the teachers, Harry nudged Ron to look at Snape's mauled leg, setting the scene for their eventual discovery of Fluffy.

Hermione did become their friend after that, and Harry let himself relax again, knowing things were definitely going in the right direction.


	4. Crossroads

**Revised as of 9/22/09.**

"Ron, will you shut up!" Harry whispered fiercely. "You'll wake Neville."

His companion scowled, looking back up the stairs to the closed door of their dormitory. He scratched his head, but followed Harry down into the empty common room.

"Why are you so worried about _Neville_ finding us? Dean and Seamus are up there, too."

Harry didn't want to tell Ron that he knew from experience that Neville would take to lurking around the common room at night when he was sure the Golden Trio were out to get into an adventure for which they would lose house points. It didn't really matter – the chance meetings as a result of the skipped duel with Malfoy had inevitably thrown things off. He, Neville, Ron, and Hermione had not been running from Filch that night, therefore Ron didn't know about it.

"Just be quiet," Harry commanded. "We've got to get out of here before someone wakes up."

Ron mumbled about losing sleep, asking, "Why are we sneaking out again?"

Harry let out an exasperated breath. "Malfoy thinks he's found a secret passage way up on the third floor. I wanted to check it out."

The two boys crept toward the portrait hole, stopping abruptly at the sudden barricade taking the form of an irate twelve-year-old girl. Hermione stood in her dressing gown with her arms crossed over her chest, glaring at her friends.

Harry recoiled, though he knew this was all part of the plan.

"And just where do you two think you're going?" she hissed, hands on her hips.

Ron shot a look at Harry that plainly said Harry was to blame for their predicament.

"We're going out to meet Malfoy on the third floor," said Harry firmly. "There's supposed to be some sort of secret passage up there."

She narrowed her eyes. "And what will happen _when_ you get caught and lose Gryffindor house points?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "We aren't getting in trouble. It's not like we're going to be hanging around down there; it's just a quick look around to see if there's really anything interesting in that part of the castle."

"You already _know _there's something interesting going on in the third floor, Harry; students are forbidden from being there!"

Harry brushed past her, motioning for Ron to follow.

As they climbed up the stairs, Harry began to search the corridor for the white-blonde hair of Draco Malfoy. The boy was supposed to meet them around here, as Harry had told him the exact same story as Ron. He felt strange including Malfoy in on his adventure, but he and Hermione (after much discussion) had decided they could use Malfoy's help while they were young. If things with the Stone went a little smoother because of an extra hand, it would be perfect, but mostly Harry didn't want to incite Dumbledore's interest by defeating his enchantments with too little effort.

Malfoy was standing alone at the top of the staircase, face bland and still wearing his school robes, though it was past midnight. As they approached his face hardened at the sight of Hermione, but he quickly masked it, giving them his trademark smirk.

"Come on guys," Harry whispered. "Let's get on with it. Draco, lead the way."

Malfoy nodded and took the lead, Ron falling into second position, leaving Harry and Hermione walking side by side. Out of the corner of his eye he caught her apprehensive look; a twelve-year-old Hermione Granger was very in touch with the rules and time travel or no, she knew they shouldn't be where they were.

"You tipped Filch, right?" he asked her nervously. The plan would certainly fail if Filch and Mrs. Norris didn't come and force them into the room with Fluffy, it would be much harder to covertly get access to the Stone before Quirrell.

Hermione nodded. "I told him we'd be here in…" she looked at her watch, "ten minutes. That should give us time to poke around before the cat comes snooping."

"Thank you for doing this," he whispered urgently. "I know it's hard."

She gave him a weak smile. "From the stories you tell I was quite the rule breaker in my day."

"That you were," he said, chuckling faintly. "You even walked out in the middle of a class, howling about the teacher being a fraud."

It didn't look like she believed him. "You'll see, Hermione. Meanwhile, it looks like it's our cue."

A red-eyed, dust colored cat strolled towards the four students. The reaction was immediate. Ron let out a heart-felt swear, and proceeded to push past Malfoy in his haste to escape. Hermione shot Harry a look, and the two raced to keep up with Ron, and Malfoy who was now jogging at an easy pace past Mrs. Norris. Then he stopped, turned back, and gave her a swift kick with the toe of his shoe. He grimaced, and then began running again.

The sound of their footsteps echoed through the deserted corridor.

"Are you quite alright, my sweet?" asked Filch, from somewhere behind them. They hadn't gone very far yet, but had finally rounded the corner. The door Harry needed to herd everyone into was right at the end of the hall.

And Ron had just blown past it.

Panic surged through Harry's chest. He stopped walking, went up to the door, and opened it with the aid of _Alohamora,_ calling to his companions. "In here!" he hissed.

Malfoy had not, in his attempt at saving the Slytherin image of calm superioritiy, gone as far as Ron, and immediately bolted back around, slipping into the room just after Hermione. Harry looked for Ron, who had apparently realized no one was with him anymore, and found him red-faced and out of breath, trotting back down the corridor.

"Bloody hell, mate, we're caught!"

Harry pushed him through the door and quietly did the latch. Not even thirty seconds later, Filch's footsteps sounded outside in the hall. All four of them stood close to the wood of the door, listening intently.

"Quick thinking, Weasley," Draco said with a frown. "There's no way you're coming on another one of these expeditions. The Mudblood thinks faster on her feet," he said laughing.

It was impossible for Ron to turn a deeper shade of red, but he stepped forward, pushing Draco on the chest. "Don't you _dare _call her a Mudblood you bastard!"

Draco wasn't fazed in the least. "Oh, no, _bastard?_ You mustn't let mummy hear you talking that way."

"Don't you have a go at my mum – " Ron's eyes widened considerably, and for the first time he backed away from a fight, his eyes fixed somewhere close to the ceiling of the room they were currently hiding out in.

Fluffy growled, causing Draco's head to snap around.

"Look underneath him," Hermione instructed. "This dog is guarding something."

Ron's eyes moved nervously from one head to the next. "What are they thinking, keeping this in a school?"

###

_"Does this mean you'll go out with me?" Harry asked, hopefully._

_Ginny rolled her eyes, spinning around in enjoyment of the warm sun and all around dry weather. It didn't happen often. "So my kissing you in front of the entire Gryffindor house didn't tell you how I feel about you?"_

_"I kissed you," he reminded her._

_"Ah, but I ran into your arms like a five-year old. And I kissed you the second time." She was leading him to an old birch tree down by the lake, and he felt a tingle in his stomach. Walking next to her wasn't a lot of pressure, but he felt awkward just contemplating standing or - Merlin forbid – sitting next to her with nothing to occupy his suddenly too long limbs._

_"You're my girlfriend," he said dumbly._

_She raised an eyebrow. "Is there something wrong? You aren't usually this uncertain. If you don't want to…kiss me again, I'll understand, you know."_

_Harry's jaw dropped. Had they experienced the same kiss? It had been so utterly mind-blowing he couldn't imagine not wanting more of that. It was like a combination of all the best things in the world, especially the second time, in the corridor off the entrance hall, when she'd pushed him against the wall and proceeded to kiss him so sweetly he thought he may have imagined the entire thing._

_"Of course," he sputtered. "I want to kiss you again."_

_"Good," she said, obviously satisfied. "Because I want to kiss you again, too."_

###

Harry Potter walked onto the pitch, trying to keep in mind that he was supposed to be a terrified first year who had never even seen a Quaffle before. It was a shame in this timeline that he couldn't afford to antagonize Malfoy into helping him get onto the Quidditch team, but he decided he should at least give it a shot at tryouts.

It was cold that morning, but Harry was feeling confident with Hermione and Ron waiting in the stands for him while he walked humbly to the broom shed to choose one of the rickety school brooms. Oliver Wood was just starting his warm up lecture on the importance of a solid Quidditch team, but Harry had long since memorized the speech.

He waited patiently in the crowd of prospective players, almost all of the older than he, avoiding the incredulous eyes of the Weasley twins.

"All right," said Wood, his broom in hand. "Fortunately everyone from last year's team could return to play this year, except of course, for our Seeker, who graduated." Harry smirked as Wood's demeanor said plainly he thought graduating – and leaving the team – was a stupid choice.

"So, if you aren't a seeker, kindly leave the pitch right now."

More than half the crowd walked away, leaving Harry and five other Gryffindors. Two of them were girls, one a fifth year and the other a third; and three boys, a fourth year, sixth year, and seventh year. None of them were remarkably tall or heavy, which was a con in Harry's book, because they all looked exactly the right build to play the position.

_Here's to hoping I've still got it._

"Split up into two groups and race down the pitch. First one back from each team will go up to the next round and we'll practice with these little balls here." He pulled out half a dozen golf balls from the pocket of his robes.

He was in a group with the fifth year girl, Rebecca, and the seventh year boy, Thomas. Both of them raised their eyebrows at him, but he simply walked towards the field, and mounted his broom.

Two shadows came up from behind him. The Weasley twins looked torn between worry and extreme amusement.

"Have you ever flown before Harry? Do you think you can do it?"

Harry grinned. "I don't know yet, but I hope so."

With that he flew up into the air.

It felt so freeing to be on a broom again, a fraction of the way he had felt the first time he'd seen Ginny again. It struck him as odd, and he finally understood why the memory of his first broom ride never fueled his Patronus. It was a good memory, but there were certainly more powerful ones.

He circled around, looking for his two competitors, and found them near the goals. He leaned forward on his rickety Comet and blasted forward, the broom rocking its protestation.

They lined up, headed for the other side of the field, waiting for Wood's whistle. Harry could feel the eyes on him, but he looked straight ahead, focusing on the prize. All he had to do was get to the other goal posts before the other two and he was one step closer to being able to play Quidditch again.

A shrill sound signaled the beginning of the race and Harry bolted forward. He pushed his broom to full speed, but it was still dragging. A quick glance to the left and the right and he grimaced. Both of them were really good. Thomas, he thought, was a little too awkward when in the air, and couldn't find a good spot to rest his body on the broom, something which impeded his speed. Rebecca seemed to have no such problems, and Harry immediately knew she was the one who would give him trouble.

Harry thought a moment, and realized he also needed a new position. The air was crisp and blowing past him at an incredible speed, but there was still too much resistance from his current perch. They were halfway down the pitch when he risked everything, hooking his ankles around the end of the broom and laying flat against the handle. His knees gripped the handle for control, and suddenly he was _flying_ past Rebecca and Thomas, hurling himself straight through the center hoop, just like in the story Ron had told him on the Hogwarts Express.

This time, however, no one was stuck in the hoop, and no one was laughing.

_They were cheering._

"Well done, Potter!" Wood and the twins were grinning at him as he touched down.

The other two in his group walked moodily back to the castle, their robes whipping around them melancholy in the darkening grounds.

The other finalist touched down as well, it was the sixth year whose name Harry could not remember.

"Great work, both of you," Wood said. "Really impressive acrobatics up there, Potter."

In the end, Harry really hadn't anything to worry about. He retrieved every ball Wood threw for him, and the other boy – Evan – missed two out of six. It was official. Harry Potter was again the youngest seeker in a century.

###

In a whirl of Quidditch, suspicion, and the quest for Nicholas Flamel, the rest of the term passed and gave way to Christmas. Again Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were in Romania visiting Charlie, and Harry spent a lively Christmas with the Weasley brothers and Hermione, who had convinced her parents to let her stay for the holiday. Malfoy was going home to be with his parents, but he at least shook Harry's hand on the way to the Hogwarts Express, putting a disgusted look on Blaise Zabini's face.

Hermione had rather cleverly introduced the idea of Nicholas Flamel after their meeting with Hagrid, and now Ron was absolutely sure Snape was after the Stone. Harry wasn't sure if they shouldn't just tell him the truth – but he was wary of too many people finding out. If it somehow was leaked…or pried from the mind of someone in Potions class…there could be serious consequences. Harry knew Dumbledore always meant well, and he loved his mentor greatly, but if Dumbledore was aware the entire knowledge of the future rested at his fingertips…

Dumbledore had said it himself; he wasn't to be trusted with power.

No, Harry was determined to wait until he was better prepared to defend himself and his mind. As much as he hated to admit it, Ron was a target for a Legilimens if someone were to get suspicious.

Soon lessons were back and the days were going by so fast, Harry was well on his way to being a second year. Norbert came along as expected and the trio spent a lot of time down at Hagrid's hut, watching the black spotted egg for any sign of movement. Harry wasn't exactly riveted, knowing exactly when the egg would hatch, but he had other motives to being at the hut.

"Hagrid, you can't keep a _dragon _in your hut! It's made of wood!"

Hermione threw Harry a scathing look. "What triviality Harry has forgotten is that having a dragon in any place not a Ministry dictated reserve is illegal. Hagrid, you could be fined, you could go to jail!"

Hagrid rolled his beady black eyes. "They ain't sendin' me ter Azkaban fer a baby dragon! Norbert wouldn' hurt a fly, hones'!"

Ron swore under his breath, holding out his swollen hand. It had been bitten just a few hours before, when Harry had his back turned. He couldn't persuade Ron to go to the Hospital Wing yet, but he knew before long the wound would look so disgusting Ron would have absolutely no choice in the matter.

"Norbert has to leave, Hagrid, and I couldn't say it if it weren't absolutely true."

Hagrid looked from Harry to Norbert to Ron, resignation etched on his face. "I don't have a place ter keep 'im."

"Ron's brother lives in Romania, and works on a dragon reserve. You remember Charlie, don't you? He would probably be ecstatic to get a Norwegian Ridgeback. Norbert will be just fine there."

Hagrid looked back at Norbert with worry. "He'll fit in with the other dragons, won' 'e, Harry?"

###

Professor Dumbledore was gone. Hermione and Ron looked to Harry to make a decision, and he calmly ushered them out of the Deputy Headmistress' office and into the corridor.

"It's tonight," he said. "My scar's been hurting all through exams, and it's been even worse today."

Ron looked at him with wide eyes. "Suppose we can't get past Fluffy? You never know, Hagrid might only _think _music calms Fluffy."

Hermione hesitated. "I think it's worth a shot. I mean, there isn't really anything else we can do," she said, cutting through the entrance hall to take the shortcut to Gryffindor Tower. "If we don't get that Stone tonight, You-Know-Who will definitely have it by tomorrow. And with Dumbledore gone…"

"I never took you for the adventurous type, Granger," said a smooth voice from behind them. All three whipped around to find Draco Malfoy looking at them suspiciously. "You three are going off on an adventure tonight, aren't you? Well, I'm not going to let my chance of actually getting something from this 'truce' pass me by. I'm going with you, Merlin knows you could use someone with a little less book smarts and a little more common sense."

With a last snicker, he walked away.

Ron frowned at Harry. "Can you tell me _why_ that git is our friend?"

###


	5. So Nice So Smart

**Revised as of 9/22/09**

A/N: I do not, nor to I claim to, own Harry Potter or any other characters included in this fiction. This is for entertainment purposes only.

###

_"Tell me about the Philosopher's Stone, Harry," Ginny beseeched him, tugging at his hand playfully. It was the first few, tentative weeks of their relationship; though Ginny was so thoroughly terrible at being tentative they really skipped every awkward moment. It was comfortable for Harry, being with Ginny. Even with Ron's somewhat reluctance to jump for joy, Harry knew all of Ginny's family was – or shortly would be – thrilled at the new development._

_He hid a smile, but took a deep breath as they headed to their beech tree, and began sorting through the memories of that night, when he had journeyed through the trapdoor._

_"It used to be one of the most terrifying experiences of my life."_

_Her brow furrowed. "Really? The way Ron told it, you guys had a great adventure."_

_"Yeah, it was like that…afterward, but after Hermione went back for Ron, and I went ahead through the flames, I had to face Quirrell all by myself. I had never seen evil like that before, Ginny. It was strange seeing that, even though I knew in theory of Voldemort, he could corrupt someone so thoroughly that they would willingly kill an eleven-year-old boy."_

_"I guess that would open someone's eyes to evil," she conceded, burying her face in his shoulder._

_He laughed. "Don't get soft on me, Weasley; I'm not near as broken as everyone seems to think."_

_"You should be with the way your life has gone," she mumbled, face still pressed against the knit of his jumper._

_"It was the second time I ever fought him, and I'm glad I did, because the next time I knew I had to do it, I wasn't so afraid. I knew I could do it, and I did it."_

_"The Chamber?" she whispered._

_"Well, technically that was a giant snake," he said, chuckling. "But that too. What I really meant was in the graveyard, after Cedric." Two years later and he still could not completely conquer the guilt that plagued him for surviving that encounter without saving the other boy._

_"I can't tell you exactly how it feels…facing _him_, but know it isn't something I want for you. I don't want you in any more danger than you have to be in. Sometimes I-"_

_She knew exactly what he was going to say, and she didn't want to hear it. She put a finger to his lips. "Don't Harry, not today. There will be a time when you'll do what you have to do, and I'll do what I have to do_

_"In the meantime, why worry about it? We're here, together, right now. And really, is anything else as important?"_

_###_

"Watch your foot, Weasley!" snarled Draco in a tense whisper.

"Sorry, _Draco_," said Ron sarcastically. "It seems we have an _un_invited guest under the cloak with us!"

"Shut up, both of you," Harry commanded, trying not to think about how difficult it was to maneuver through the empty corridors with four people underneath his father's cloak.

_"Should call Filch, I should, if something's a-creeping around unseen," _called the most annoying voice Harry had ever heard. He mentally kicked himself for not remembering this particular encounter earlier, but managed to recover from his shock in time to call out to Peeves.

_"Peeves, the Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible," _he said in a gravelly voice. "_I have business here, Peeves. Stay away from this place tonight."_

Whimpering, Peeves zoomed away from the four first years, leaving them in blessed silence. Harry allowed himself, finally, to take a breath of air, and let it out slowly, before prodding Ron in the stomach with his elbow and moving forward.

It took a lot of coordination and teamwork (an area in which spoiled Draco had no talent whatsoever) to make it up the stairs and into the locked room. The three of his companions glued themselves to the far wall; while Harry faced the sleeping three-headed dog without fear. Fluffy's snores were loud, and punctuated the soothing playing of the enchanted harp in the corner.

Ron's courage began to dictate he take another step forward, but his pale face betrayed his fear. It didn't matter either way, Harry put a hand to his friend's chest, halting him.

Ron shot him a look.

Harry shook his head. "I have a feeling the spell on the harp will be ending sometime soon." He turned to Hermione, who looked relieved.

"You're smarter than I give you credit for, Potter," sneered Draco, though his cool demeanor looked a little forced. "If the enchantment isn't going to work for much longer, what exactly are we going to use for music?"

Harry grinned. "I was hoping Hermione would do the honors."

"You want Granger to play the harp?" asked Draco incredulously. "I don't think the Mudblood has any musical talent."

Harry let the comment slide. Sometime soon, he would have to punch Draco in the face for his comments, but it would be counterproductive at the moment. Instead, he simply inclined his head, and turned to face Hermione. Her eyes were wide.

"What do you say, Hermione?"

She took in his smirk, and realized exactly what she was supposed to do. Watching the harp, she waited until it had stopped playing its gentle tune, and she took a deep, shaking breath.

"_Blackbird singing in the dead of night," _she sang, quite beautifully. "_Take these sunken eyes and learn to see. All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to be free."_

Fluffy, who had begun growling at the intruders, focused his six eyes on her in amazement. Hermione found her way back to the chorus, humming softly between the words, and Fluffy's head began to droop. Harry may have imagined the strange look passing over Draco Malfoy's face.

_"In the light of a dark black night," _she sang.

Harry motioned for the two boys to help him, and they rushed to the massive dog's paw, moving it off of the trapdoor with not a little difficulty. "_All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise. Blackbird fly, into the light of a dark black night."_

The wooden door was propped open, and Harry, knowing there wasn't as much danger as a three headed dog, pushed Draco down the chute first. He motioned for Ron to follow, and once the red hair of his best friend disappeared, he turned to Hermione.

"Ladies first," he said, smiling.

She sat on the edge of the door, put her feet down into the darkness, and took an abrupt leap. Fluffy soon realized his entertainment was gone, and began growling fiercely. Harry took one last look at the room, and he too was gone into the depths, landing with a flump onto the Devil's Snare.

###

"Everyone relax," ordered Hermione, who was steadily escaping from the grasp of the killer plant. "This plant thrives on the struggle, and it will definitely strangle you if you fight it." True to her own words, she was soon able to climb through the vines and end up on the far side of the room, safe.

Ron continued to protest, but scowled at Malfoy, who was able to free his legs and dart to the damp wall to stand by Hermione. One of the vines was twirled around Harry's arm, but almost as soon as he was able to relax his muscles, the plant reluctantly loosened its grip.

"Weasley, you idiot! Stop moving!"

Harry silently agreed with Draco's statement, but he remembered being eleven and having the same plant wrapped so firmly around his body. It had been very difficult to calm down enough to wiggle from its grip the last time. "Hermione, conjure the flames."

She nodded and whispered the incantation, and the fire shot from her wand. The Devil's Snare shrunk away from the heat and light, leaving a red faced Ron slumped on the ground in front of them. He stumbled to his feet, cursing.

"You can't follow instructions, can you, dimwit?" said Draco, his lip curling in disgust. "You're more of a liability than a help at this point. I don't know why Potter even bothered to bring you. He'd be better off with that idiot Longbottom."

Harry rounded on him sharply. "That's enough, Draco. We have enough to deal with at the moment without you provoking Ron." He motioned for the others to follow, and was inside the room with the keys before Ron or Draco could speak again. Hermione was the second through the door, and she looked up at the ceiling of the cavern with wonder.

"What the bloody hell are _those_?" asked Ron in amazement.

Harry pretended to consider, craning his neck to get a better view of the winged objects. "I think they're keys."

"You reckon we need to capture one?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Weasley, you'd think there was nothing but mush where your brain is supposed to be. Obviously the key goes to the door right over there," he pointed to the door on the other side of the room, which Harry knew from experience was locked. "And I seriously doubt they will be so calm once we're up in the air."

"In the air?" stuttered Hermione in a panic. She never had successfully flown.

"Look in the corner," Harry told her, pointing to three brooms propped up against the wall. "It looks like someone will have to sit this one out."

"I'll stay by the door," Hermione said gratefully.

In much the same formation as last time, the three boys successfully trapped the key, and Harry used it to unlock the heavy wooden door. They walked through, finding the transfigured chess set.

Ron was in his element. "Hermione, you take the rook over there, and you Harry should take the bishop on the same side. Malfoy," he said with obvious disdain. "You take the other castle."

Malfoy turned faintly pink. "You're doing this to get me out of the way! You'll keep me out of the game until the end, or you'll sacrifice me at the beginning!"

Ron scowled. "_I'm_ the resident chess master in this little group, Malfoy, not you. So, if you'll kindly take your place and listen to my instructions, we can get on with the game, and I can kick the other side's arse."

In the clear vision granted to him by time travel, Harry was even more impressed by his best friend's logic and ability in the game. It was nothing short of fascinating watching Ron scratch his chin in concentration and suddenly the light bulb would go off, and an entirely new strategy would begin to play out on the board.

Perhaps coincidentally, Draco was Ron's favorite piece to move, and the castle ended up taking a good number of pawns, and other important players. A couple of times Draco had been in immediate danger of being taken – and Harry had panicked for a few seconds, upon realizing that Ron had planned far ahead. In those cases, whenever the Queen or the white side's remaining bishop was ready to take Draco, Harry or Hermione were already in position to protect their comrade.

Finally, everything stilled after a couple of moves in quick succession. Harry was still trying to catch up with Ron's decisions, when Draco sniggered.

"Did you plan this all along, Weasley?"

Ron turned stiffly, raising an eyebrow. "How much do you know about chess?"

"I've been playing Grandfather Malfoy since I was five. I know my strategy, and you just set yourself up to get taken. And once you do that, I'll neutralize the queen, and the King will be already in check from where Harry's lined up. It's a perfect trap." Malfoy actually looked impressed.

"You're going to…sacrifice yourself?" said Hermione, throwing a look of accusation to Harry, as though he should put a stop to it. Her emotions were obviously causing her to forget their conversation that afternoon.

"I have to do this," Ron said, looking up at the Queen, who had heard the conversation and was preparing to take Ron. "There's really no other way, not at this point."

"It has to be done, Hermione," Harry said softly, reminding her with his eyes about their conversation earlier in the day. When he informed her of the shady facts he could remember clearly about their expedition, he told her it was imperative she did not offer too much resistance to Ron putting himself in danger.

Ron nodded solemnly, and moved forwards and to the left, coming to a stop in front of the white's last bishop which crashed to the floor. The Queen slid at a slow pace towards his position on the board, but Ron faced her without fear. Harry was quite impressed, never having realized the true extent of Gryffindor bravery possessed by the eleven-year-old version of his best friend.

Hermione began to move, her instincts dictating she run to Ron's crumpled figure, but Draco said to her, in a harsh voice, "Don't you dare move, Granger. You'll cost us the entire game." With that, he moved to take the Queen, who resignedly stumbled from the board. Harry watched the King intently for a moment, and then walked the diagonal line, standing in front of the piece with a bland expression on his face.

The King's sword clanked onto the floor, signaling a victory for black. Hermione rushed to Ron's aide, while Draco pulled Harry aside.

"The two of us have to continue on. Let Granger take Weasley to the Hospital Wing."

Harry gave him a doubtful look, but didn't argue. There were going to be moments in the coming years when Malfoy would ask Harry to trust him, and Harry knew this was the first of those occasions. It would be important later, when Draco's loyalties were tested, that he be able to remember acts of faith on Harry's part.

Harry walked back to Hermione, who knelt by Ron's body, trying to wake him up. He patted her on the back gently, drawing her attention to his serious expression. "We're going on, 'Mione. You go back up and find Dumbledore – however you have to do it. Send an owl first, but my guess is that he will already know what's going on by that time."

She opened her mouth to protest being left behind, but he put his hand over her lips. "Ron needs you," he said sternly. "You have to get him to Madam Pomfrey."

"Be careful," she said. "Harry, I – "

He pulled her into a hug, cutting off her words.

###

Draco and Harry walked into the flames, becoming trapped in the room. It was much smaller than Harry remembered, but he supposed anything looked huge to a scrawny kid in way over his head.

Harry reached for the parchment with the riddle written on it, but Draco snatched it away, tossing it carelessly into the fire behind it. The paper caught fire rapidly, and it wasn't a second later that Harry's hopes for making it to Quirrell were dashed.

"What the hell are you doing?" Harry demanded, rushing to the flames in a vain attempt to save the instructions. He could not remember the words written on it.

Malfoy smirked. "Did you think I would come here without a plan? I knew almost every trap we're facing."

_Snape!_ "How did you find out?"

Rolling his eyes, Draco said, "You really don't get how Slytherins work, do you? Professor Snape and my father are very good friends. He told me everything I need to know. Except, of course, the last obstacle…" He began to speak more to himself than Harry.

"And Snape doesn't mind you getting the Stone? You know Ron and I think Snape's the one after the Stone."

Draco shook his head. "He isn't, trust me. He wouldn't tell me who is working against the staff, but he did give me hints about how to get past everything. Luckily, Granger knows most things too, otherwise I'd have to blow my cover."

"Your cover?"

"Honestly, Potter, do you think Snape would give me information without a condition? The only person who can know about his involvement other than me is you. I couldn't tell Weasley or Granger, because it would damage Snape's reputation in _our _world."

"And what world is that?" Harry asked, his eyes wandering to the bottles of potion on the table.

"The pureblood society," he said simply. "We're all filthy rich, except for Snape, really, and most of our group either supported or believe the ideals of the Dark Lord. Most importantly, and this is true to even those who don't want to kill Mudbloods, they hate you. Father and his associates talk about ways to kill you over firewhiskey. Just joking, of course," he added, commenting on Harry's shocked look.

"So since you burned the parchment, how do we get out of here?"

"Don't worry about the riddle, and don't worry about _these_ potions." He dug into the pocket of his robes, pulling out two vials of an ominous dark red potion and held one out to Harry. "Drink this; it will provide protection so we can walk through the fire."

"But Voldemort-" he ignored Draco's reproachful glare "-is bound to be there, whoever is helping him. You can't even say his name without flinching, how do you expect to face him!"

Draco didn't answer, instead walked up to the fire and popped the cork on the vial of potion. His shoulders stiffened, and he downed it in one gulp. "Voldemort," he said sternly, and then disappeared into the flames.

Panicked, Harry swallowed the potion and threw himself through the fire before Quirrell and Malfoy had time to mince words. Harry did not want for Malfoy to become another Cedric Diggory, only to be killed because he happened to be a spare.

"_You?" _Draco was laughing at the man standing in front of the two with a turban tied loosely around his head.

_"Me," _Quirrell said, and Harry cursed as his vertigo threatened to reconsume him. He hadn't vomited since the summer, but was now feeling nauseas and dizzy. "_I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter. _And Mister Malfoy, to what do I owe this pleasure? Surely you aren't here to stop me? I know how you hate Potter."

"Who I hate is none of your business, filth," Draco spat. "I know what you're up to, because you're too pathetic to die like a man."

"You know nothing, child," Quirrell said, and snapped his fingers, sending black ropes to coil around both boys' bodies. They dropped to the ground simultaneously. "No one knows more than I, except for my master. He knows all."

"Your master knows nothing!" Harry shouted. "I heard you sobbing the other day. Is that how your master treats you?"

Quirrell paled. "_Sometimes I find it hard to follow my master's instructions – he is a great wizard and I am weak…"_

Harry held in his vomit in fear that in his current position he might choke on it. It would not do to die before the first trial.

"You mean…" he said weakly, playing his part. "He was there in the classroom, that day, with you?" He tried to sound confused.

_"He is with me wherever I go. I met him when I traveled around the world. A foolish young man…Power…those too weak to seek it…"_

Harry desperately twisted his head to the side, so that the bile rising in his throat fell onto the floor beside him. He coughed, trying to clear his throat, but another dizzy spell threatened to make him pass out.

"Don't die on me, Potter," Draco ordered from his position to Harry's left. "Not when bloody Voldemort is coming."

"Coming?" asked Quirrell derisively. "He isn't coming, you foolish boy. The Dark Lord is already _here._ Do you think I go anywhere without his wisdom? I am not worthy of the honor…" he trailed off, but his mouth was still moving, as though he were discussing something with someone.

"Come here," Quirrell said, snapping his fingers again to release the ropes binding Harry. Draco remained bound on the floor. "Look into the mirror and tell me _exactly _what you see. Do not lie to me."

Again, Harry saw his reflection winking at him, and putting the Stone into his pocket. For the second time Harry possessed the Philosopher's Stone.

"What do you see?"

"I've just one the Quidditch cup, Wood and I are shaking hands with Dumbledore."

Quirrell's lips were moving furiously again, and he turned abruptly to Harry, scowling. "You lie! Tell me what you see!"

"No!" Harry yelled. "You can go to hell!" He rushed Quirrell and clamped his hands on the taller man's neck, unable to reach his face. Quirrell learned the hard way that touching Harry was a bad idea, especially when he went to pry Harry's hands from his flesh, but he only screamed louder as the palms developed bloody blisters.

"I don't want to see your master's ugly face!" Harry said furiously, as Quirrell occupied himself by trying desperately to unwind the turban at Voldemort's whispered order.

With his remaining hand (the other had completely disintegrated), Quirrell pushed Harry off of his neck and flung the fabric of the turban from his head. He turned around, exposing Voldemort's face to him.

_"See what I have become? Sharing another's body… once I have the Elixir of Life…body of my own, save your own life and join me…"_ he whispered seductively.

At Harry's scream, Quirrell had no choice but to go for Harry again, but this time Harry would not be removed from his task of killing Quirrell. Harry leaped at the haggard man, and touched his hands to his face. He held on until the searing pain in his scar was so intense he passed out.

###

In the days after, things slowly died down. The hype from Harry's defeat of Voldemort lasted until the end of the term, but once Harry was cleared to leave the hospital wing he felt almost normal.

Ron and Hermione were fine; though Ron had suffered a concussion from his battle with the Queen. Harry saw him and Professor McGonagall speaking in the corner of the hospital the day after he woke up, Ron's face flushed with pride.

Harry's conversation with Dumbledore was almost the exact same as it had been the last time, and Harry knew exactly when to press the Headmaster for answers and when to let up. Dumbledore wasn't going to give him anymore information than he thought prudent at that time, and Harry wasn't ready for him to know about the future yet. He supposed it made him a little like Dumbledore – hiding things from someone because he felt they weren't ready for them, but it couldn't be helped. Harry was working for a lot more than his own safety; he had the entire magical population to think about.

He didn't see Draco again until the train ride home, but he was able to get him alone for a little talk. Malfoy was certainly shaken by the experience, but was trying desperately to keep it from being noticeable. He also declined a seat in the trio's compartment, saying he wasn't much in the mood for celebrating.

Harry walked back into his room at the Dursleys with a sense of accomplishment, knowing he was another obstacle through the struggle against Voldemort. An hour hadn't gone by before he was counting the days until he could see Ginny again, when she would mistakenly put her elbow in the butter dish.


	6. Break This Time

Pacing the smallest bedroom at Number Four Privet Drive, Harry Potter plotted his upcoming escape from his relatives' house. It had been a torturous confinement, and he was running out of the time available in his very short window. In a whirlwind of chores, verbal abuse, and a lot of the Dursleys ignoring him, the summer was almost a third of the way over. It had been May when he was released from Hogwarts in the custody of his aunt and uncle, and now it was the night of Uncle Vernon's biggest dinner party of the year.

And, of course, it was Harry's birthday.

It was six o'clock, and he knew that Dobby would be there any minute, to perform magic and get Harry a hover charm to embarrass Vernon out of his business contract with the Masons. The way Harry saw it, he could legitimately keep the timeline stable in that if he performed one – or several small – spells in order to accomplish a different goal, magic would still have occurred at Privet Drive and he would still get a warning by owl post. That is, if he were still around at that point.

His plan was to time Dobby's arrival at Number Four with Alohamora on the padlock of Hedwig's cage. If he could get her to fly off toward the Burrow carrying her cage, he could drag his trunk down the block and summon the Knight Bus once he was out of sight of the house. The Leaky Cauldron had taken him in the last time, though when he was thirteen, granted, but Harry figured (loath as he was to admit it) that his name could waive any questions about why a twelve year old needed a place to stay for a month.

Unless he wrote to Ron and the Weasleys agreed to take him into the Burrow early.

He pulled out his wand and laid it on the bed next to him. His trunk, which had been locked up underneath the cupboard under the stairs, was now located in the corner of his bedroom, hidden under the invisibility cloak.

He gathered the trunk and the cloak, putting them by the bedroom door, and listened for the opening of the downstairs door.

_"May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?"_

Harry listened intently, sitting on the trunk, facing the bed. Just as the soft clinking of china sounded from downstairs, a 'pop' signaled the entrance of a particularly ragged looking house-elf named Dobby.

Harry's eyes shut briefly against the memory of his friend's last minutes of life. In his mind's eye, he remembered the words that he once thought would be the last to describe a brave and close friend. _Here lies Dobby, a free elf._

He smiled kindly at the elf's antics, (_"So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir…")_ but he knew he would have to quickly take control of the situation if he wanted his freedom from the Dursleys.

"Hello, Dobby, I'm Harry. It's very nice to meet you," he said, holding out his hand for the elf to shake. As expected, Dobby threw himself on the floor weeping, but Harry pulled him to his feet, putting a finger to his own lips in a silent command.

Dobby was still spluttering his thanks, "Never has a wizard been so…so _kind_, to Dobby, sir!"

"Dobby," Harry said firmly. "If you can't be quiet, I'll have to ask you to leave my house." It must have been the extra twenty-five years of experience in his voice that made the elf heed his warning this time. The elf did not attempt to bang his head on the lamp as punishment for almost speaking ill of the Malfoys.

Harry sat on the bed, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. It was almost time to go. "I know everything about why you're here, and before you go through with your plans, I have an offer for you."

Dobby, despite his naïveté, looked intrigued, but then shook his head. "Dobby must protect the great Harry Potter!"

"No, you don't. I know about the plot, Dobby, and I know how to fix everything. But let me make myself clear; _you are not to interfere at Hogwarts this year_. Go home to your family, and I can guarantee your freedom at the end of the next term."

Tears brimming in his eyes, Dobby asked, "Harry P-potter would be Dobby's master?"

Harry shook his head. "You'll be your master, Dobby. But only if you do me this favor and go home."

Dobby nodded, and then looking guilty, snapped his fingers to summon Harry's stack of letters. He could make out Ron's untidy scrawl, and Hermione's neat cursive on the backs of several envelopes.

"Thank you."

Dobby Disapparated.

It was a quarter to seven when he looked back at the shabby alarm clock, and Harry rushed to his desk to write a quick letter to Ron.

_Ron, _

_It's a long story, involving a mad House-Elf and a padlock on Hedwig's cage, but I haven't been able to write anyone so far this summer. I've just managed to get my letters back, and all my things are packed. The Muggles are driving me so nutters, I can't stay here anymore. If the offer to stay with your family the rest of the summer still stands, I'll be renting a room at the Leaky Cauldron. If it isn't possible, could Hedwig stay with you? I'm sending her with treats, and she hunts for most of her food anyway, so she shouldn't be too much of a burden._

_Thanks so much, Ron._

_Harry_

Harry couldn't remember exactly when the Masons left Privet Drive in the first timeline, but he figured the two couples and Dudley were still down lingering over brandy and dessert (in Dudley's case). Though he was strong magically, Harry had no illusions as to his physical power coming anywhere close to Uncle Vernon's. Using magic against a Muggle while trying to run away from home seemed like asking for trouble. No, the best option was to leave while the Masons were still at the house, so that his Aunt and Uncle could not make a scene.

He opened the door, and very quietly shoved his trunk down the hall and to the top of the stairs. He pulled out his wand, taking a deep breath, and pointed it to the padlock of Hedwig's cage. Knowing he only had a brief window of opportunity, Harry first tied the letter to Hedwig's leg.

"You have to be quick, girl. I need you to find Ron and give him this letter." Hedwig hooted in response. "_Alohamora_," he whispered. He let her perch on his arm, opened the window to his bedroom, and watched her fly away.

Springing into action, Harry threw his invisibility cloak over his arm, figuring one more spell couldn't hurt he shrunk Hedwig's cage and shoved it into his trunk, then closed it all up again and began dragging it down the stairs as quickly as possible while making the least amount of noise he could.

It was all for naught, because as soon as he was at the bottom of the stairs, he heard a screeching sound, and the unmistakable beating of an owl's wings. _Shit! _The letter from the Ministry had already been sent.

Standing at the bottom step, Harry watched as Mr. and Mrs. Mason ran down the main hall and out the front door, Mr. Mason hurriedly explaining his wife's phobia of birds.

The sight of a packed Harry seemed to stun Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. Vernon stood in the entryway, gaping at his nephew, face turning a livid shade of puce. "Just what do you think you're doing?" he ground out, breathing furiously.

"I'm leaving," Harry stated, leaving the bottom step and edging his way down the hall. He'd not made it past his cupboard when Uncle Vernon regained his senses.

"The bloody hell you are! Where would you go anyway? You're a ruddy orphan!" He took a step towards Harry, eyes darting to the cupboard Harry had just cleared.

"Don't even think about it," Harry said in a dangerously calm voice. "The days of you shoving me in that closet are finished." With that, he left Privet Drive for the summer and, he hoped, for good.

# # #

It was a relatively easy trip into London in the Knight Bus. No one was nearly as nervous as they would be after the escape of Sirius from Azkaban, and Harry was able to avoid detection from Stan and Ernie. Neither recognized him, and dropped him off in front of the Leaky without learning his surname. His first name, he'd told them, was James.

The Leaky Cauldron was a little more difficult. Harry thought it was unlikely that Tom would rent a room to just any twelve year old – especially if he had no explanation of how he had come to be on his own. With a warning for underage magic use already under his belt, he was unwilling to risk being taken under control of the Ministry, or worse, Dumbledore.

Taking a chance that no one was paying him any attention; he walked into the pub bathroom and took out his wand. The Leaky Cauldron was so filled with magic; Harry knew there was no way his magic could be pinpointed by the Ministry. He performed his usual Auror glamour, making himself a respectable six feet in height, with chestnut brown hair, and plain, dull green eyes. He shrunk his trunk and tucked it into his pocket, all the while wishing he still had his seven compartment trunk – the one he had inherited from Moody after the last war. It was shrinkable with a charm built in to make it feather light – no matter the contents.

His alias was James Evans, and Tom rented him a private lodging readily. It was reasonably comfortable, with just a bed and a wardrobe. Harry hadn't withdrawn much from his Gringotts vault before going off to Hogwarts his first year, and had to settle for very modest accommodations – which suited him perfectly. He knew, though, that he was going to have to come up with a way to bring much more money back to school this year.

Almost as soon as he was safely in his room, he dropped the glamour, and went to unlatch the window to wait for Hedwig. It was past midnight before she came back, and Harry was snoozing on his bed when she swooped in, dropping a letter onto his stomach.

It was from Ron.

_Harry,_

_Mum's going spare with worry – she and dad can't believe you actually made it to London all by yourself. They haven't written the Muggles because Mum hates them so much, but dad flooed Dumbledore right after he read your letter. I dunno what Dumbledore said, but mum and dad are coming to pick you up first thing in the morning. Dad says to meet them downstairs in the Leaky Cauldron with your trunk packed, and they'll floo you to the Burrow._

_Ron_

With a wave of his wand, she shut the window and warded the door. It was a fitful night's sleep, and Harry awoke promptly at five in the morning. He paced around the bedroom until seven. He expanded his trunk, and, without his glamour, walked downstairs to the sparsely populated pub. Those who were there were merely passing through on their way to Diagon Alley; there weren't many people coming in for tea this early.

He sat at a table, performing a modified version of the Confundus Charm, (a spell Hermione invented shortly before the end of the previous timeline) on Tom, which made the mysterious stranger from the night before seem suddenly very irrelevant.

Several minutes later, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley rushed into the pub, searching the dingy tables for their son's friend. Arthur was facing away from Harry, and Molly's eyes found him first. She tapped her husband on the shoulder and pointed toward Harry's table.

"Harry, son? Are you ready to go?" asked Mr. Weasley kindly. Harry felt his heart thump at meeting the eyes of the man whom he had last seen completely and utterly devastated as his family was all gone.

"Yes, thank you," Harry replied politely. "Hello again, Mrs. Weasley."

She gave him a pat on the shoulder, accompanied by a half-stern look. She never had been able to really effectively discipline him; it had always come out half-hearted no matter what he had done – though he was most often caught up in a scheme of Ron's, and later Ginny's.

"It's good to see you safe, dear. What were you thinking of, leaving your aunt and uncle's home without assistance?"

Harry gave her a sad smile. "My relatives aren't the nicest people around."

She opened her mouth to speak, but was silenced as Arthur took hold of their shoulders and gently steered them toward the public fireplace. "You go on first, Harry," he said. "Do you know how floo works?"

Harry nodded. "Hermione read about it and told me how to do it."

Stepping into the fireplace, Harry pinched the floo powder, threw it down, and shouted, "The Burrow!"

He was home again.

# # #

"Harry!" called Ron, clambering down the stairs. His frame had lengthened over the summer, and he was now looking slightly disproportionate.

"Hey, Ron."

"Harry, positively excellent to see you again, old chap," George said pompously, earning him a glare from Percy who was sitting at the breakfast table. Most of the Weasleys were sitting around the table, all except for the face Harry was most anxious to see. Ginny was probably still tucked into her bed. She wasn't a morning person under any condition, and it wasn't yet eight o'clock.

"Well, everyone gather round the table; breakfast will be ready in just a few minutes," said Mrs. Weasley. Then, looking Harry up and down, admonished, "You're looking quite peaked, dear, have you been eating at all?"

Harry smiled in response.

Bustling about the kitchen, she called over her shoulder, "Ron, would you go rouse your sister? If she isn't up in five minutes, there'll be no breakfast for her."

Ron grumbled his way up from the table, and Harry, hoping no one was paying him attention, followed him up the stairs. Ginny's bedroom was on the second floor, just like he remembered, and he held his breath as Ron pushed the door open, yelling out her name. "Ginny! Get up!"

Harry's heart stopped. There, snuggled so securely in the flowery bedcovers, lay the most beautiful sight his eyes had ever witnessed. Eleven years old, his wife still had more power over him than anyone he'd ever met before. She frowned at her sleep being interrupted, and Harry had to stop himself from smacking Ron in the back of his head.

"You go on back to breakfast, Ron," Harry said, unable to stop himself. "I'll wait for Ginny."

Ron shrugged, his mind on food, and left the room.

It was a new brand of torture, having her there in his life again. No matter what age his body was, he had a hard time keeping himself from pressing a light kiss to her forehead. He had to remind himself that she didn't know him at all - and hadn't known him well until he was sixteen years old. Now, his body only twelve years old, it felt like forever to wait until the time when she would be able to fully understand him again. He walked over to the bed, and gently shook her shoulder.

"Ginny? It's time to wake up," he told her in a low voice. One brown eye opened, peering at him blearily. She must have recognized him, because with a squeal she jumped back, bumped her head on the wall, and fell back onto the bed, rubbing her her head.

"Are you okay?" he asked, not feigning his concern one bit.

Her eyes were as wide as saucers, and he smiled inwardly, thinking she must have lost all power to speak. "You don't have to be afraid of me," he said kindly. "I'm Ron's mate, Harry Potter."

"I'm not afraid," she contradicted, showing just a little of her future spunk. "My name's Ginny."

"Your mum says to come down for breakfast," he said a little awkwardly.

She nodded, face as red as her hair.

# # #

The summer passed quickly without much change in the timeline. Truth be told, Harry was much more attentive to Ginny than before, and he noticed it irked Ron. Harry made sure to include Ginny on all their Quidditch adventures, and it did not go unnoticed by anyone in the family. Fred and George, to Ginny's mortification, teased Harry endlessly about his attentions to their sister. Ron and Ginny were good friends once Ron relaxed, though their personalities made it so that they got into plenty of fights.

It was almost painful to be so close to Ginny again, and his dreams of their love were slowly turning into terrorizing nightmares.

_Harry's office desk was piled with stacks of reports, but as a field agent he had little time to do paperwork. Voldemort's army was steadily moving through Muggle neighborhoods in England - Harry's home county of Surrey was almost completely uninhabited. The Dursleys were currently hidden by the Order, and Harry was waiting on Hermione to find a way to destroy the last Horcrux before he went out to kill Voldemort._

_He hadn't been home in over twelve hours, and Ginny was likely pulling her hair out in worry. These days no one knew when or where an attack would happen. Maybe she would stay the night at the Burrow after the family dinner... He wished he were there with his family._

_The door was pushed open with such force that it hit the wall behind it with a resounding crash. Harry pulled his wand out in alarm, pointing it at the unknown visitor, only to have it fall from his hand like a useless twig._

_Hermione stood in the doorway, her eyes blackened with smudged mascara, tears falling uncontrollably down her face. He didn't need to ask, but she told him anyway; perhaps as a way to acquaint herself with the truth._

_"Harry…they're…gone. Ginny and Ron…and the Weasleys," she collapsed helplessly, but didn't fall to the floor. Harry surprised himself by catching her in the circle of his arms._

Harry awoke with a jolt. His stomach revolted, but he managed to escape Ron's room and kneel in front of the toilet before retching. Wiping his mouth on toilet tissue, he rubbed his forehead with his hand. His scar hadn't hurt all summer, but it was almost automatic for him to touch his scar after a nightmare, as though it was to blame for every fear in his life. And it was to blame for almost every bad memory.

He washed his mouth out with water from the sink, and headed back up the stairs. Trying to be as quiet as possible, he crept through the darkness, but paused on the landing at the door he knew to be Molly and Arthur's room. Insistent voices came from behind the door, and Harry thought he heard his name.

"I know all of _that_, Arthur, but I still can't say I agree with you."

"I'm not saying he's a bad boy, Mollywobbles. I'm simply saying he hasn't been the best role model for our boys. Can you imagine what a twelve year old boy is thinking when he runs away from his family without informing anyone?"

"To be fair he doesn't realize Dumbledore is his magical guardian," Molly pointed out.

"And something bothers me about all the attention he's giving Ginny – "

Harry's stomach sank. _And I thought I was hiding everything so well._

" – I can't put my finger on it, but the way he treats her is too…attentive for a boy his age."

"Oh, Arthur," Molly scolded. "I think it's sweet of him to worry about her being included. Ginny's so smitten with him."

"There's something we're missing," said Arthur, uncharacteristically stubborn.

Harry didn't sleep again that night; he was too busy planning what he would do once he got back to Hogwarts. He definitely didn't want to go back to Privet Drive, and he knew very well he couldn't come back to the Burrow next summer – he needed the Weasleys to go to Egypt so Sirius knew to break out of Azkaban.

Formulating a plan, he got out of bed at sunrise.

# # #

"Ginny? Can I help you with your trunk?" They were the last people to get downstairs; Harry because Ginny wasn't ready yet. In all honesty he had been the first one packed and ready to go.

She looked up from last minute double checking, and smiled at him a little hesitantly. It was still taking her quite a bit of time to get used to being around him, but he rather enjoyed watching her blush at him. It was highly adorable.

"Thanks, Harry. I was just making sure I have everything," she said after a minute.

He nodded and began looking around the room. He dropped to his knees to make a quick sweep under the bed. Something familiar caught his eye. "What's this?" he asked in a strangled voice, unable to hide his disgust at Tom Riddle's diary in her bedroom.

Her eyes widened. "Oh no! I can't believe I almost left it. It's a diary mum and dad gave me for making it into Hogwarts. I've been writing in it since we got our supplies."

For once he was thankful that she had trouble focusing her eyes on him. He was sure he looked white as Nearly Headless Nick. Telling himself he would be there for her _this_ time, he slowly reached out his hand for her to take it.

"Thank you," she murmured, looking at the floor. "I mean, for being so nice to me this summer."

He smiled briefly, shutting her trunk with a snap, and dragged it from her bedroom.

# # #


	7. Another Senseless Accident

Harry strode through the corridor, a scowl etched on his features. He met no one; all but about three people were not at the Welcoming Feast in the Great Hall. One was Harry, the other Dumbledore, and the last was the eccentric Sybll Trelawney. Harry hadn't seen her at the feast, but he hadn't been there long before McGonagall found him and ordered him to the Headmaster's office immediately.

Trying to crush his irritation at yet again having his life dictated by the whims of 'adults', he approached the Gargoyle, and said firmly, "Pepper Imp." The stone figure jumped aside.

As he walked up the stairs, he remembered his last meeting with Dumbledore, almost an entire decade ago. It was in this very office that he finally learned the truth about himself, far too long overdue. Harry's blind grief over the loss of the Headmaster was so intense that it wasn't until many years later that the anger, which he had briefly embraced during his fifth year, began to resurface. In his agony over losing Ginny, he mapped out every grievance he had toward the Headmaster.

It was time for Albus Dumbledore to come clean, about everything – the Hallows, the Prophecy, and the past. Harry's real twelve-year-old self had been cut off from everything to do with the Chamber of Secrets, although Dumbledore also knew Harry was a parselmouth. Harry also had his suspicions about the entire incident – if a thirteen year old girl could piece together the information regarding the Basilisk, was Harry to believe Dumbledore was as ignorant as he portrayed himself?

All the injustice, the lies, the secrets pressed down upon Harry's already burden chest as he knocked on the door.

"Come in."

_Time to show me your hand, _Harry thought as he opened the door, briefly smiling as he remembered his card games with a fascinated Ron (_The cards don't even explode?)_.

Dumbledore sat at his desk in the oval room, hands clasped together in front of him. He nodded in the direction of the straight backed chair across from the Headmaster. Harry started at the sight of it; wooden chairs were more McGonagall's style. Nevertheless, he took the seat, perching uncomfortably on very edge.

"I suppose you have some idea of why I had Professor McGonagall send you here, Mr. – would you mind terribly if I call you Harry?"

Steeling his resolve, he replied, "Yes, sir, I would mind. I believe Mr. Potter will do perfectly fine."

Something akin to sadness entered Dumbledore's normally twinkling eyes, but Harry, not wanting to open himself up to the Headmaster's Legilimency skills, was not looking into them.

"Very well, Mr. Potter. I have come to discuss your little…trip to Diagon Alley this summer. It was very wrong of you to run away from your relatives, Mr. Potter. May I ask why you did such a thing?"

Harry took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. "I fled an abusive home, Headmaster, to protect my own rights to come back to school."

Dumbledore's face hardened. "I take a keen interest in the home life of many of our Muggleborn students, and I have yet to see any evidence of abuse in your home. Let me remind you that I am Headmaster here, and lying is completely unacceptable."

Harry's eyes, focused on the chestnut desk, widened. Dumbledore had never, ever spoken to him in such a manner. Did he really insinuate that Harry was really the nasty, attention-seeking liar the _Prophet_ had said back in Harry's fifth year?

Straightening his shoulders, he felt any sympathy or camaraderie toward the old man dissolve. "I'm very sorry, sir, that I lost my fondness for being locked up in a broom cupboard. If this is acceptable treatment of a minor perhaps you would like to rethink my current room and board. I'm sure there is an excellent broom cupboard in the castle you can keep a lying little boy."

"Is there something you would like to tell me, Mr. Potter? There is no reason to be so terribly angry."

"Is there anything you would like to tell _me?_" Harry retorted. "Maybe there's no reason for _you_ to be terribly angry, but I'll keep my emotions to myself, thank you."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "You are going back to your relatives' home this summer, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded, though his mind was screaming at Dumbledore to not make him do it. _Don't make me fight both you and Voldemort._

"Yes, sir, may I be excused?"

He felt Dumbledore's eyes scanning him like an x-ray, but he did not waiver in his posture. "May I be excused, sir?" he asked, when Dumbledore did not readily respond.

"You're very young, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, softly. "But please bear in mind that the side you choose today will be the side you fight with tomorrow. Remember that when you make your decisions, and when you think about how to treat people."

"Goodnight, Headmaster."

# # #

_"Why do they all look to me, Ginny?"_

_She brushed the hair from his eyes, moving closer to him. It was two o'clock in the morning, and they were just now getting into bed after a rather strenuous Order meeting. Harry was inevitably picked to lead and he wasn't handling the pressure well._

_"I can't do this! I am not Dumbledore!" The pleading look in his eyes made her want to hide her face in a pillow. Instead, she kissed his cheek. "You're the hero, love. No one can do the things you can do and everyone knows it – even McGonagall. That's why she nominated you as head."_

_"But I'm only eighteen!"_

_She frowned at him. "You should know by now that age means absolutely nothing. After all, how old were you when you beat Riddle the first time?"_

_"It wasn't my –"_

_She put a finger to his lips. "And how old were you when you fought the second time – and the third time, and the fourth time? Face it, Harry, you're brilliant."_

_He sagged, his head hitting the pillow-less side of his mattress. His voice was muffled against the sheets when he finally spoke. "I'm really not. But I love you for telling me I am."_

_She smirked. "Who lies better than Ginny Weasley?"_

_"Potter," he corrected._

_"What?"_

_"Ginny Weasley-Potter is your name, or it will be soon enough."_

_He felt her lay down next to him, pulling the duvet up to her chin, resting over his shoulders. She stroked his bare back. "I think I'll just drop Weasley all together."_

_He rose up on his elbow, looking at her curiously. "You want my name?"_

_She rolled her eyes. "No, actually I wanted to be known as Ginny Longbottom."_

_At his questioning look, she kissed him again, this time on the temple. "I like your name, and I like the way it sounds on the end of mine."_

# # #

A brunette man strode evenly through the streets of Hogsmeade. It was implied in the way his feet moved with such surety that it was obvious he head a definite destination. There were a few people on the road and in the sleepy little town most stopped to talk with their neighbors, resting their shopping bags and other burdens on the cobbled streets.

The man paid the passerby no attention and his eyes did not stray from the path in front of him, until he reached a familiar pub down the street. He opened the door for two feeble looking witches, who smiled pleasantly at him, and then entered The Three Broomsticks.

He walked into the pub with a decisive stride, giving a little wave to the barmaid, the beautiful Madame Rosmerta. She nodded at him and finished with her customer before walking up to the counter he stationed himself at.

"Can I help you, love?" she asked, apparently quite taken with his dashing smile and handsome, but modest, good looks.

He gave her a subdued smile, but she didn't seem to notice his half-hearted attempt at acting. "Yes, ma'am, I'm looking for a house to buy in the village. Is there anyone I can speak to locally?"

"You can always rent something upstairs, for five galleons a night," she said, blue eyes twinkling at him.

He studied her for a moment, as though he were reading her mind. "I'm afraid I need a permanent house, and I'd much rather buy it. Is there anyone you know of who is looking to sell?"

She smiled at him. "Now that I think of it, there is a house for sale out on the outskirts of town. But it's more house than a bachelor needs."

"Oh yeah?" he said, ignoring the batting of her eyelashes. "Just how much house are we talking about?"

"I've heard it was eight bedrooms, four loos. Why, is that what you need?"

"That is exactly what I need," he said, smiling again. "Do you happen to know who owns it?"

"I do."

He obviously hadn't been expecting that. "You own my dream home? Why didn't you tell me in the first place?"

"Well, my love," she said with a teasing grin, "I was trying to convince you to stay here."

"Alright, Miss – "

"Rosmerta," she supplied. "Madam Rosmerta."

"I would like to buy this house from you," he said.

She narrowed her eyes. "You haven't even seen it. I may be trying to sell you a shack with one bedroom, an outhouse, and an outside shower."

The honest truth was he had been practicing his Legilimency on her, which proved her intentions were far from sinister. She was used to young men flirting outrageously with her – and the fact that he wasn't made her more than a little curious. She was also wondering why a young man like him would want an enormous house on the outskirts of a sleepy wizarding village.

"I trust you," he said, without a hint of irony, giving her a half-hearted wink. "But if I could get the coordinates, I could Apparate over. I'd like to pay you first, though."

She looked first curious, and then stunned when he paid exactly half of the entire cost in galleons on the bar. "You might want to floo this over to Gringotts," he suggested.

The wide look in her eyes worried him. Discreetly, he pulled his wand from the pocket of his well-worn black robes and waved it in her direction. She got a confused look in her eyes, refocused on the galleons, gathering them into a barrel once used for storing firewhiskey, and smiled benignly. It was another gem of Hermione's – a mixture of the Confundus and another charm which dims and reorders certain memories, putting them in the back of a subject's mind. That way, if they were subject to Legilimency, the aggressor had less chance of finding anything at all.

"I'd like to see the house, if you don't mind," he said lightly. She nodded, Rand then told him the coordinates with a faint 'goodbye'.

The house was indeed on the very outskirts of the village. It was around the cave where Sirius had lived during Harry's fourth year at Hogwarts. It was dark stone; three story, with a high chimney on the side. He used his wand to unlock the door.

Inside was barren, with a lot of floor space and a brick fireplace in the foyer. He walked past into the living room, with its own fireplace, and then into the roomy kitchen. He leaned against the wall, remembering mornings in the old flat, when he and Ginny made breakfast together. He would always end up cooking the meal himself; she'd get distracted by her tea and the sports section of the Daily Prophet.

He missed her, but there were things he had to do before they could be together again. This house was the first step; it was the future safe house for Sirius, and Harry had the feeling he would eventually have to hide himself when things with Dumbledore came to a head.

The soldier in Harry knew there were things that had to be done and he knew Dumbledore wouldn't agree with him. Harry remembered being a fifteen year old, admiring that quality in the older man that made him want to save everyone. But years as an Auror, years without a wife, and even more years without a family had left him more attuned to reality. And that reality was there _are_ bad guys, there are people you can't change, and sometimes Azkaban isn't an option.

He hadn't realized those simple truths soon enough before. Harry wouldn't make the same mistakes; Dumbledore be damned.

# # #

Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked into the Great Hall, in the midst of a hundred of his classmates. There hadn't been any Basilisk victims – Harry had been as attentive as ever to his former wife, and she was looking quite healthy – but Lockhart, after some subtle prodding from Hermione, had created the club anyway to solve inter-house squabbles.

Lockhart in his mauve robes stood on the platform, speaking inanely of his own supposed dueling expertise, split them into groups of two. Draco and Harry paired off, knowing Snape would separate Ron and Harry, and faced each other.

"Looking forward to your loss, Potter?" Draco asked, sneering. He had his wand in a firm grip – too firm, if you asked Harry. One thing Moody had always drilled Harry about in Auror training was cutting your reflex time because your muscles were too stiff. _A nice steady grip, Potter, remember that,_ Moody would say. _There's a reason I have two arms and both buttocks._

The 'duel' was over before it started. Draco wasn't as ruthless this time around; indeed, he seemed to be enjoying himself. Malfoy fired a tickling jinx and Harry disarmed him after a smooth dodge.

"Very well done, Mr. Potter!" said Lockhart, smiling grandly from the podium. "Why don't you and Mr. Malfoy demonstrate that for the whole crowd?"

Snape, obviously tired of this bonding sequence, intervened. "I think Mr. Potter's talents should be tested against each of the best. After all, if he's beaten Draco once, he can beat him again. How about Zabini? The two should be _reasonably _well matched," he said silkily.

He climbed up the steps, receiving Lockhart's best wishes with a great deal of amusement. Harry was going to put the smirking Slytherin in his place. He could remember the last time he saw the brunette's face was at a battle late in the second war. Across the wreckage of a stray blasting hex, Harry had seen Zabini's face, cool in his concentration, casting simultaneous curses at the weakened members of the Order.

The boys bowed, and then turned to take their steps. Snape whispered something into Zabini's ear, which caused the black boy to chuckle. Harry sent out a feeler – just a weak tripping jinx, nothing drastic. Zabini easily dodged it, sending out a hair-thickening charm, which caused rapid growth on the hair of Harry's left arm. He was too occupied with shooting _Impediamenta_ toward his opponent, who side stepped.

A glint in his eye showed Blaise was about to pull out his secret weapon. Just as Harry predicted, the next word to come from Zabini's mouth was the incantation to conjure a snake.

The snake was bigger than the last one, and more aggressive. It slithered aggressively toward Harry, advancing quickly. "_Halt,"_ Harry ordered in Parseltongue.

It looked at him, quirking its head. _"Why should I listen to a human? It was not even you who called me forth. Master's intentions were clear."_

_"Don't!"_

Harry was beginning to panic. He didn't want to use a charm to get rid of the snake; that would call attention to his abilities, and he was still hoping to have some control over the creature. Unfortunately it was no longer up to him – the snake reared its head, opening its jaw wide. Harry, with his seeker reflexes, jumped out of the way.

Too bad Lockhart happened to be standing directly behind him.

The Defense professor's screams echoed through the Great Hall.

"Potter," said Professor Snape, eyes flashing in triumph. "Headmaster's office this minute. You'll be out _this_ time."

Ten years ago Harry would have laughed off the idea of getting expelled by Dumbledore. Now, he wasn't so sure.

# # #


	8. Working Class Hero

A/N: Sorry about the long wait, I honestly don't know how this got away from me for so long. *Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix American Edition pg 665.

# # #

"What do you _mean_ there are no grounds for expulsion?" Snape spat. "_He_ spoke in Parseltongue – he sent the snake after a student! Potter is the reason Professor Lockhart is being treated at St. Mungo's as we speak!"

Dumbledore's eyes did not sparkle with mirth. "I mean exactly what I said, Severus. As neither you nor I can speak Parseltongue, it would be unethical to expel Mr. Potter without due process. The snake obviously was bent on attacking Mr. Potter, not our esteemed Professor."

"Only Dark wizards speak in Parseltongue, Albus, it's common knowledge!"

"Your argument is based on fallacy – I may as well ask why _you _aren't a parselmouth," Harry cut in.

"It's easy to sit here in the Headmaster's favor, Potter, but believe me, he won't always be here to make sure the Golden Boy keeps out of trouble. Some of us have to work hard and stay out of trouble to stay here at Hogwarts," Snape said venomously.

"I've done nothing wrong, _Professor_, merely displayed a talent which no other person in the school possesses," Harry said smoothly.

Snape opened his mouth to argue, but Dumbledore cut him off.

"I'm afraid the argument is over, Professor. Now, I would like to speak with Mr. Potter privately, if you'll excuse us."

The Potions master threw Harry a vicious look, and left the room, robes swishing.

"I wonder if he charms his robes to flow like that when he leaves a room," Harry said dryly, earning a stern look from the Headmaster.

"Harry, I've let you off of this incident when another Headmaster might not have. I won't ask you to recount your version of the events, but I must ask this once more. Is there anything you would like to tell me, Harry?"

This was the moment he faltered in the other timeline, Harry knew. And he sincerely wanted to share his story and ideas for the future with his mentor. But he couldn't. The thought of Ginny, downstairs in the common room, healthy, happy, and most importantly _alive_ was too beautiful a thing for Harry to hand his plans over to a man who inevitably valued morals over life.

"No, sir," Harry replied, as innocently as possible. "I have nothing I would like to tell you."

"Very well," Dumbledore said. "Very well."

# # #

"Harry?" inquired a gentle, hesitant voice. It was a week later, at night in the Common Room and Harry was finding it difficult to concentrate on his ridiculously easy second-year Transfiguration homework. It wasn't that he couldn't do it – it was just hard to produce sub-standard work. He'd slipped up more than a few times in class, and McGonagall had remarked that he had his father's keenness for the subject, but evidently not his mother's work ethic.

The revelation of Harry's parseltongue did not endear him to the other students, particularly other Gryffindors. There had been no attacks, thankfully, so the situation was far for unbearable.

He turned abruptly, recognizing the voice immediately. In the process his ink bottle was capsized, spilling black ink all over his parchment.

Ginny reddened.

"I'm so sorry!" she said fervently. She scooped up the parchment, looking around for something with which she could wipe up the mess.

He put a hand on her forearm, using the other to wave his wand lazily at the parchment, muttering _evanesco. _The ink disappeared and he had a blank parchment again.

"Wow," she said, awe in her voice. "I doubt I'll be able to do that in sixth year."

"You'll be a great witch someday, I promise," Harry assured her, smiling. He took a seat on the coffee table he'd been working on, motioning for her to take the fluffy armchair he'd just vacated. She looked quite flustered by the attention, and sat down, her face still beet red.

"Is something wrong, Gin?" he asked. "We were friends at the Burrow, right? You can tell me if something's bothering you."

She hesitated.

Oh, how he longed for the old times! When they were first married and she had a problem he would sweep her off of her feet and back into the old scarlet armchair they had in their flat. It was made for two people, but he always sat with her draped across his lap, and he would play with her auburn hair until she was relaxed enough to talk to him about whatever was bothering her.

Now, though he knew those features intimately, he couldn't tell exactly what she was thinking, and the curiosity consumed him.

Surely she wasn't still writing in the diary. Indeed, she looked healthier than ever. It was nearing Christmas holidays and there was still color in her cheeks, unlike Christmas the last time, when she'd been pale and drawn. Perhaps his attentions had worked the way he had intended, and his company, along with that of Hermione, had made all the difference.

"I miss home," she said in a low voice, avoiding his gaze. "I thought I would like Hogwarts so much better than the Burrow, but now I just want to go back to my room, not my dormitory. I can't wait to go home."

This year there was no evidence to suspect anyone as the heir of Slytherin, and the Trio was already much more civil toward Hermione, so everyone was going home to the Burrow for Christmas. Harry had received a letter personally from Molly inviting him for the holidays, and he had had trouble masking his joy.

# # #

The first thing Harry did once everyone was settled in bed for the night was Apparate to his new home in Hogsmeade. A letter to the head Goblin at Gringotts had deposited the other half of the money into Rosmerta's account, so Harry had no qualms about performing the Fidilus right away. He would have to wait until the end of the holidays came about and he could have Hermione as his secret keeper, but he made all of the necessary arrangements. He wasn't sure when he would manage to sneak away from Hogwarts to live there, but he had a feeling that he wouldn't get the chance to finish his second Magical education.

And that honestly suited him just fine. If he had Ginny, nothing else would matter. He had enough money to live on from his inheritance, and he was sure he could drum up some galleons somehow. Harry didn't want to be an Auror, not like he had in the last time. Back then he hadn't known that every second with Ginny was more important than anything he could accomplish outside of the house. He should have used that time to be with her – to make those children they had spent nights in bed cuddling and talking about.

He would slow down and do it right this time. He just had to think things through.

Dumbledore was the biggest problem in Harry's mind. Harry loved the old man like a grandfather – but as much as he wished they could work together again, Harry knew they couldn't. However, he didn't want to hurt Albus, and he didn't want to his plans too badly. But he also couldn't have his family caught up in his plans.

That meant he needed a few other people on his side.

Tonks was going to be very precious to Remus one day, and that meant that she needed to be saved from her death – she had been killed by Crabbe and Goyle senior just after Harry had graduated from Hogwarts. Her death hadn't been easy to take, as she had been carrying little Teddy Lupin at the time, and the Cruciatus had caused a violent miscarriage. Harry had killed Crabbe, but it hadn't been enough. The only thing that could ease that hurt was stopping it from happening in the first place.

There was also Moody, who Harry was positive he needed in order to make things work. Mad Eye Moody might be, well, mad, but he wasn't the most brilliant Auror of his age for no reason. Things were going to come to a head sooner than later – and Harry needed to be prepared when those things happened.

The empty house around him was charming, once he wasn't so panicked about making sure he actually had a house. The sitting room was spacious – and empty – enough so that he knew the meetings of his future Anti-Voldemort association would be able to meet easily here. The furnishings might be a little difficult, as the money issue was becoming more and more of a problem

A wicked grin appeared on his face. Quite suddenly he came up with the most intriguing solution. It would piss of Dumbledore to no end, it would raise his already stellar position on public opinion, and it was sure to be bought by every Magical household in the United Kingdom, thus raising him enough money to fund the future war effort and buy him a brand new seven-compartment trunk to boot!

Harry Potter was going to write a book.

# # #

Harry was detached for the entirety of the Christmas Holidays, and that did not go past Molly Weasley unnoticed. He had almost completely removed himself from the festivities in order to write, and hadn't spoken much to anyone – he wanted to keep everything under the radar. He was a little afraid that if Dumbledore caught wind of what exactly was going into the book, the Headmaster might try to stall its publication.

Molly thought Harry was feeling left out, and blamed Arthur for some of it. Harry heard them arguing one late night at the Burrow (he hadn't been sleeping much either, so excited was he to be finally doing something that might benefit Ginny), Molly scolding Arthur for having done something to make Harry feel less welcome in their home.

He felt bad, he really did. Harry loved Molly and Arthur like the parents he never had, and it was not at all his intent to cause strife in their marriage, but he knew that if he mentioned anything to Molly, things would only get worse.

Telling them could upset the future, and prevent him from destroying Voldemort. Hermione was always sensible, even as a child. She would be a good ally to have – but if he told Molly and Arthur and Bill and Charlie and Percy and Fred and George, the chances of one of them changing the timeline in a way that everyone would regret would increase dramatically. He planned to tell Ginny just as soon as she was old enough to understand – as soon as her role in the fate was largely finished. If he could destroy the diary, then he could tell her.

The future wasn't looking near as bleak as it had last year, and Harry was over halfway finished with his book. He had Hermione take the first four chapters while they were on the train, charming it so that it appeared to Ron and Ginny as a regular, leather bound book.

"Harry, this is amazing!" she praised, later that night in the library. He was 'working' on an essay over _Colloportus _and its relation to Alohamora, the unlocking charm. Harry had been sure to keep his grades actively low, getting mostly Acceptables in Herbology, Charms, and Astronomy. In Transfiguration and Defense, however, he slipped more often than not and made consistent E's and the occasional O. In History of Magic, he performed substandard, garnering Poor's more often than not. Potions was his one exception. When he had gone through Auror training, he had been tutored in Potions by Kingsley Shacklebolt, who proved to be an excellent teacher – and Harry couldn't help but make an O in every exam Snape came at him with.

It made him smile in a selfish way.

"Do you really think so?" he asked.

Hermione looked fit to burst. Perhaps Harry should have written a book before. If it made Hermione so happy he was glad to have done it just for that reason alone; he had seen his best friend too sad on too many occasions.

"It's positively brilliant, and the title? _My first Eleven Years: A Memoir?_ It is beautiful, especially the description of your home life… Did the Dursleys really treat you so poorly?" Her brown eyes were full of concern.

For a second, his mind flashed back to the grief-stricken woman, cupping his cheek in her hand.

"Er, yeah, they did. I mean, I didn't exaggerate anything," he answered, blinking a little to fight off the disorienting vertigo. "I've been owling this man, Xenophilius Lovegood? He's the father of a first year Ravenclaw, Luna. We'll _know_ her in the next few years," he finished in a low voice.

Hermione nodded in comprehension.

"Anyway, I said I'd owe him a favor if he pulls some strings with a publisher friend of his, and he accepted because who doesn't want to have the Boy Who Lived owe you one? So as soon as I'm finished, I'll send him the manuscript and it'll go out almost as soon as they can bind it."

"And are the royalties going to be enough to support the…?" He knew she was referring to their eventual organization, which would work independently of both Voldemort, the Ministry, and Dumbledore.

"Yes, I'm almost positive. Mr. Lovegood assured me that no one will be taking advantage of me. He'll be getting a small commission, the publisher and I will split up the sales."

"Favorable terms," Hermione said, nodding encouragingly.

"I thought so too. Now all I have to do it furnish headquarters and find a way to destroy the diary."

That was Harry's next big problem. He knew exactly where the diary was, and he would eventually have to destroy it, but his two main methods of destroying the horcruxes were currently unavailable.

First of all, Ginny wasn't possessed in this timeline. Therefore, she wasn't going down into the Chamber, and Harry wouldn't be able to call Fawkes to him down there. Even if he was down there, facing Tom Riddle, Harry knew that Fawkes had been listening during every conversation Harry had had with Dumbledore. Fawkes wouldn't come to him, not with the current state of his relationship with Dumbledore. And second, if Harry couldn't get the sword of Gryffindor, there was no plausible way that he could slay the Basilisk without it.

Unless he stole the sword from Dumbledore's office…

Which would be provoking the Headmaster even more than he had twice already this year. Harry knew Dumbledore was already questioning the Boy Who Lived's allegiance – that preliminary suspicion added to the book release and the theft of a priceless Founder's heirloom would mean the Headmaster might never trust Harry again.

Harry wanted to be independent, he wanted to kill Voldemort on his own terms, and he wanted to keep everyone alive for the longest amount of time possible, but he absolutely did not want to make Dumbledore hate him forever.

"I'll be needing your help," Harry told Hermione.

He knew what he was going to do. He would have to steal the sword and ask Ginny for the diary. She would give it to him, she was still enamored with him that it wouldn't be hard to get her to give him the diary, even if it did contain her most intimate thoughts.

He had opened his mouth to tell Hermione he needed her help in breaking into Dumbledore's office, when a gasping Ron ran into the library, Madam Pince at his heels.

"Harry! I need your help! I can't find Ginny," he said, still panting. "She's been acting strangely all week, and now I can't find her anywhere."

"Have you told Percy?" Hermione asked, her eyes on Harry, face white.

Ron nodded. "He went to find the Professors. Harry, I don't feel right about this."

Harry couldn't speak. He felt like his throat was closing. All he could think was how foolishly he had miscalculated the situation. Of course, this boost of confidence he had given Ginny since his return would make her even more vulnerable to Tom Riddle's charms. A chill ran up his spin at the thought that he had been inadvertently responsible for her suffering twice. He knew now that he didn't have a choice anymore – Harry Potter was going to return to the Chamber of Secrets, months early.

He took off for the Headmaster's office at a run, eliciting a screech from Madam Pince, and dumbfounded expressions from both Ron and Hermione.

He ran up the stairs, pulling out the newly nicked Marauder's Map (the twins really should guard their secrets better) looking about for Dumbledore's dot. He found it, near the Great Hall, surrounded by the other Professors. With that out of the way, Harry focused his attention on the Gargoyle in guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office.

He wracked his brain for the password McGonagall had used when she was bringing him up after Nick and Justin were petrified in the other timeline.

"Sherbert Lemon?" he said to the Gargoyle, who scowled, but jumped aside nonetheless.

_"The thing about growing up with Fred and George, is that you sort of start thinking anything's possible if you've got enough nerve." *_

With those words ringing in his ears and that beautiful, earnest face dominating his thoughts, Harry climbed the stairs to the Headmaster's office. Anything's possible if you've got enough never, indeed. He was about to test that theory. He took the stairs three at a time, running for all he was worth. He came to the door separating him and the oval office, and wasted no time in pushing it open.

Godric Gryffindor's sword lay in a case on top of one of the antique bureaus. Lifting the glass in his hands, he was careful not to smudge it with his fingerprints. Fawkes was conspicuously absent from the room, and Harry couldn't help but become suspicious of the phoenix. He took the sword, slid it in on of his belt loops, and took off for Moaning Myrtles bathroom at a run.

He made it to the bathroom in minutes – almost as if he had flashed there like a phoenix. The bathroom was empty, except of course, for Myrtle, who evidently did not appreciate her space being invaded.

"This is _my_ lavatory, thank you," she said petulantly. "Get out!"

Frowning, he pointed his wand at her, banishing her with a quick jabbing motion. Everyday spells didn't work against ghosts – Peeves the Poltergeist reacted differently – but there had been some advancement in that area after Voldemort was gone and Unspeakables had more time to devote to other activities.

He looked at the sink, concentrating on the engraved snake dancing on the tap. "_Open,"_ he hissed.

The hole appeared, and Harry sat on his bum, his feet dangling over the edge. He propped himself up on the palms of his hands, ready to plummet down the chute. "_Anything's possible if you have enough nerve," _he chanted, and rocketed down the abyss.

The snakeskin, the winding pipes of the Chamber of Secrets were exactly like Harry remembered. He trotted to the true entrance to the Chamber, and spoke again, saying clearly in parseltongue, "_Open."_

His heart skipped a beat.

There, lying on her back on the cold, unforgiving floor of the Chamber, was his wife, Ginny. He thought that the last time they were there it would be the last time. He had thought that by going back in time he could keep her safe, protect her from some of the pain she had endured her entire life. She had had nightmares about the Chamber even throughout their married years – and many, many times he had wished he could do something, anything to spare her that trauma.

Now Harry was beginning to realize something. No matter how hard he tried, some things were simply fated. Harry Potter would always be the Boy Who Lived and Ginny Potter would always have Tom Riddle's diary as one of her prominent nightmares.

Though he knew that it would do no good, Harry couldn't stop himself from running to Ginny side, stroking her cheek, and calling out to her. "Ginny! Please come back to me, come on, fight it!"

A cool voice interrupted his pleading. A shiver ran down Harry's spine as he looked up into the cool, arrogant face of a young Voldemort; Tom Marvolo Riddle.

"She won't wake," Riddle said smoothly.

"I know that. You won't take her, I won't let you."

Tom's eyes narrowed. "I didn't really believe little Ginny Weasley, not at first, when she went on and on and _on_ about how the good, great Harry Potter was _finally_," his voice went into a contemptuous mocking of an eleven-year-old girl. "Paying her some attention. She was so happy, thinking about the day he actually invited her to play Quidditch with her brothers!

"Ginny told me so much about you, Harry. She told me all about your defeat of the Dark Lord Voldemort, and how attentive and sweet you'd been to her. That's when I decided to stray from my original plan. Why kill Mudbloods with my basilisk when I had another, far greater purpose? I decided to focus my attentions on bringing you down here."

Tom smiled, making Harry sick to his stomach. "And I'm positively thrilled you decided you could join us for this event."

# # #


	9. Free Falling

Harry wanted to lunge. He wanted to jump forward and throttle that smooth, arrogant mask. Tom was sneering – as he told Harry the same things, over and over again. Once again, Riddle thought he had Harry beat, but this time, as usual, Tom's downfall would be that he constantly underestimated the Boy Who Lived. Harry didn't want to prolong the encounter, Ginny was probably getting weaker by the minute…

Except that she wasn't.

Harry looked down at her, and while Tom's skin was becoming quickly solid and less sallow, Ginny's strangely looked the same as the minute he had came through the entrance to the Chamber. She looked like she was merely sleeping.

He looked up at Tom, lips pursed in a thin line. "Who is it?"

"What do you mean?" Tom looked genuinely surprised.

Harry's eyes searched the chamber. "I'm asking who you've actually possessed this time, and where you've hidden that person."

Tom's smile was smug. "You're smarter than an eleven-year-old, Potter. Famous Harry Potter, but you're too late to stop it. Lord Voldemort will return, greater and more powerful than ever."

"_Ennervate,"_ Harry murmured, waking Ginny out of her stupor. "_Silencio_," he added, for good measure. He wanted more than anything to comfort her, but he knew he was going to have to do this all very quickly if he wanted to get Ginny and Hermione out of the castle alive. Lord Voldemort was going to return – Harry didn't have enough time to find this mystery person, Voldemort's powers were already too developed.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm getting us out of here, Tom, but don't worry," he smiled grimly. "You'll hide out from Dumbledore for a while, I'll get blamed for the death, and meanwhile, you'll be gaining 'contacts' in the Ministry."

He stepped forward, invading the memory's space. "But know this Tom: I know your plan. I know your mind. And you are not going to win, no matter how much you hate me and every other half-blood and Muggle-born in this world. I will kill you, and I will be more than glad to do it."

Tom began to snarl his retort, but Harry had already clutched a slightly hysterical Ginny's arm and had begun pulling her toward the exit. Tom, as close as he was to being solid, was still a couple of minutes away from leaving transparency, and could do nothing but wait and watch Harry leave.

Harry hissed his command at the snake, and soon they were looking up at the chute Harry had used to gain entrance. He pointed his wand at Ginny, removing the silencing spell from her, putting a finger to her lips. Her eyes were wide, but she kept her mouth closed, looking up at him in fear.

"It's okay," he said quietly, hugging her tightly. "I'll explain everything to you, if you'll go up to your dormitory very quietly, and pack your things. Do you have your wand?"

She nodded.

"Hermione will be coming with us. Go find her as soon as we make it to Gryffindor tower. Remember – be quick. Everyone will be looking for us, but there's something we know that they don't… I have to keep you safe. I _will_ keep you safe."

"Harry, what's – "

He shushed her, levitating her up the chute and into the bathroom ahead. A conjured broom would last him long enough to fly just up to the ledge, but he'd never been exceptionally brilliant at mastering broom enchantments. They were purposefully tricky, mostly so that those who could perform them would never go out of business. The broom he produced looked shoddy, with only a couple dozen twigs, but it would be enough.

He flew up and closed the sink with a hiss.

Turning to Ginny, he said, "Remember what I said, we have to hurry. Tell Hermione that John was the greatest Beatle."

She nodded mutely.

They ran down the corridor, Harry's nose stuck in the Marauder's Map. Snape was down in the dungeons, Flitwick patrolling the Charms corridor, McGonagall loitering around the Entrance Hall. Dumbledore was in his office, pacing, with the other teachers and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley around him. Harry thought the best route would be straight upstairs, and into Gryfffindor tower, where they hopefully wouldn't meet anyone. He could only hope that the entire school hadn't been alerted to Ginny's – and another student's – disappearance, so that he could make a quick escape though the passage to Honeyduke's.

When they reached the portrait hole, an oblivious Fat Lady opened when presented with the password. Harry leaned over to whisper in Ginny's ear, "You have to trust me, Gin," he pulled the invisibility cloak from his robes' pocket. "Take this, and pull Hermione under it. Ask her to shrink your trunks. Tell no one but Hermione what's going on and be quick. John was the greatest Beatle, remember."

# # #

Harry let out a breath in relief. He checked the Marauder's Map, finding the dot he was looking for, and then pointed out a path to Hermione. "Take Ginny to this path, tap the map. The password is here," he said, pointing out the password on the parchment, wary of any spying portraits in their midst.

"Where are we going, Harry?" Hermione asked. "What are we doing?"

"I can't tell you now. Right now, you need to get her down into the passage, while I take care of something."

Hermione's brow was furrowed, but she disappeared under the cloak again, and their footsteps sounded throughout the corridor, until Harry turned his back on them and headed for the dungeons. He followed their dots on the Map, and didn't look away from them until they were safely in the passage, which is when he turned his attention to watching the moves of Severus Snape, who would hopefully be his new ally.

He slipped into the dungeons unnoticed, though he did have a close encounter with Marcus Flint, the stupidest excuse for a wizard Harry would ever meet, but that situation was easily averted by Harry darting behind a stone statue and waiting until the ogre passed out of sight.

Snape was sitting in his office by the time Harry opened the door, and immediately drew his wand, training it on the twelve-year-old.

"Stop right where you are, Potter, the Headmaster is signing your expulsion as we speak," he said in a smug voice.

Harry, for the second time that day, did not try to hide the experience in his facial expression or voice. "Snape, I don't have time for this right now. You loved my mother ever since you and she lived in the same town as children. You were the one to learn about the prophecy which foretold my fight with Voldemort and you gave him the information."

"How did you…?" Snape looked dumbfounded.

"One thing I learned in my twenty-five years on Earth is that childish squabbles only detract from your time with loved ones. You need to grow up Snape, sooner than later.

"I need you to keep this a secret from Dumbledore, please trust me, trust Lily's son.

"Voldemort used a diary to come back; he's in a secret chamber under the school. You do know the legend of the Chamber of Secrets?"

Snape's pale skin went ghostlike.

"He's come back and you have to warn Voldemort…" he paused, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "There is likely a…body locked in the Chamber. Dumbledore needs to be warned, but I can't endanger… Either way, this is for Draco, see that he gets it." He pulled another brown package from his pocket – another mirror he'd enchanted and had kept with him at all times.

"Thank you, Severus."

# # #

Harry clutched Ginny's body tightly as they made a mad dash through the passageway to Honeyduke's. She was shivering, and he responded by pulling her closer, picking her up and running with her when she was too paralyzed with fear to move.

His heart was breaking. Now that he had a chance to think, he felt responsible for Tom's return. Ginny would not, at their current position, take her first year exams or play Quidditch for the house team.

Hermione. Harry couldn't sacrifice her schooling, which he knew was more important to her than almost anything else. And Ron – Harry couldn't take Ron with them; having two ears at Hogwarts was incredibly important, and Ron wouldn't be as much of a target as he was in the original timeline – their friendship wasn't as strong as it used to be.

_How did I get us into this mess?_

The Fidelius Charm was the most important thing at the moment, and he needed Hermione to do it. Teaching her Occlumency would also be beneficial as well, but that would take at least throughout the summer; Harry had never really mastered the art as well as Snape had. She couldn't be away from Ron too terribly long because, even if her thirteen-year-old self didn't realize it yet, she was in love with Ron and would need him all her life. Harry would buy her school things, take her to see her parents, and then put her on the Hogwarts express on September first. It was for everyone's protection; Voldemort would be out of Hogwarts by then, and Hermione could live some semblance of a normal life…meanwhile…

Ginny would have to go back, he realized, as soon as Harry had the time to explain everything to her. She would have to have a life – that's the reason he left the future, so that she could live. And he couldn't bring himself to steal her childhood, not when he could keep her safe by other means.

"How are we going to do this, Harry?" Hermione asked. They were on the top step, Harry's hands ready to push the trapdoor open.

"There are probably some boxes you can duck behind," said Harry. "And I think we'll all be able to fit under the cloak, at least, until I can get out and put up my glamours. Keep the cloak over you and Ginny as long as you can, and follow me, even when I look like my alias."

He had shown her James Evans, just so that she was familiar with him, weeks before.

"Okay: one, two, three," he said, lifting Ginny easily into his arms, and pushing her up into the store's cellar, Hermione soon after. He hoisted himself up on o the opening his arms and climbed up. Honeyduke's cellar was mercifully empty, and Harry couldn't hear footsteps in the store upstairs. Harry walked to the door and opened it, watching the clerk walk around the displays, rearranging displaced sweets.

Harry jerked his fingers, motioning for Ginny and Hermione to follow him under the cloak. A shelf hid his body from the clerk, whose back was turned, and Harry hit the door with a silencing charm to hide the sound it would make when he opened it. He was halfway to the door when the clerk, an elderly wizard, turned abruptly, his brow furrowed.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked.

"_Confundo!_"

The man blinked, and then smiled at Harry blandly. "Can I offer you a sample, sir?"

Harry shook his head. "_Obliviate."_

He turned away from the door, and pointed his wand at himself, changing into James Evans before pushing out of the shop and onto the cobbled street outside. He dropped his wand once the door was opened as wide as it could go, pausing to give Hermione and Ginny time to move out. When he felt the brush of the cloak against his back, he straightened, and fell into a casual, even stride towards the outskirts of town and his new home.

Harry hadn't had time to do much decorating, but the three thousand galleon advance on his book had provided for more than enough furniture for the house. The living room was cozy with three different sofas arranged to face each other. Armchairs were always a part of Harry's home décor, and there were two on either side of the door. They were big and fluffy, with enough room for two people.

Hermione pulled the cloak from their bodies, exposing a shaking Ginny. Her face was pale, her freckles standing out against her skin.

"Sit her down, Hermione, and then come outside with me."

He had to turn away from his wife. The guilt was eating at him – he had taken an eleven-year-old girl from school to protect her from a threat that he was responsible for anyway. He hadn't kept his promise to keep her safe and he was having trouble facing her troubled face when he could give her no definite answers.

How on Earth was he going to defeat Voldemort now? Whoever had been killed in the process of Tom's return wasn't supposed to die, not at eleven or twelve years old. Things were beginning to spin out of control, and Harry wasn't sure he could ever repair this mess he had just made. Sirius out of Azkaban, the Tri-Wizard Tournament – all of those things were on the line, and now Harry was out of Hogwarts with little chance of going back – what were the chances that Dumbledore would understand him kidnapping two students?

He stood out in the lawn as James Evans, his hands laced behind his head. A presence behind him made him jump, and he pulled his wand out on a wide-eyed Hermione.

"Are you alright, Harry? Can you tell me what's going on?" she asked carefully.

He lowered his wand and took a deep, shuddering breath.

"She's never going to forgive me," he whispered.

Hermione wrapped him in a hug, which was difficult because he was over a foot taller than her. "It's all going to be alright. We just have to explain everything and start planning again."

"I've ruined everything," he said, and realized for the first time that he was crying.

"I'll help you every way that I can," she promised. His eyes were shut, but his tears fell more intensely when he felt her lips brush his cheek. It seemed to him that he was always kissing Hermione when one of them was crying.

He cleared his throat. "We should perform the charm and then go inside. I'm sure Ginny is really confused."

"She is," Hermione confirmed. "But I don't think there's anything we can do about it. I mean, I understood when I was eleven. I'm also curious about when you're going to tell Ron."

Harry frowned. "I want to tell him, but I can't."

"It's okay to trust people," she said, smiling. "You trust me."

"I'll tell him," he promised. "But not today. I need to worry about Ginny first. She's my first priority."

_She always will be._

# # #

Harry wanted to have Ginny in his arms for this conversation, but he wanted to ease her into the transition. She didn't yet know why she had been taken away from school and why she had been paralyzed in a secret chamber under the school or why Hermione and Harry were acting so grim. She wanted to talk to Ron, and her mum, but seemed to understand that there were things Harry wasn't telling her.

She sat on the couch, her hands on her knees, her trainers dirty and black from the grimy chamber.

"Ginny, I have something big to tell you.

"I have to tell you that I'm not really twelve. I'm actually twenty-five; well actually I'd be twenty-six."

The woman he had known and loved peeked through the anxious face and Ginny looked skeptical. "Have you gone nutters?"

Harry laughed. "No, I haven't. I'm from the future. But if you want proof, you've been knicking your brothers' brooms since you were six and you once told me that your I was only your second crush, that your first real crush was Gilderoy Lockhart."

Ginny flushed a brilliant red.

"You came from the…future?" She looked to Hermione for confirmation.

Harry nodded. "I came back for you, and for Ron, and your mum, and all your brothers."

"Why would _you_ come back for _me_?" She was shivering, and Harry immediately went into the hall closet and produced a blanket to wrap her in. Her auburn hair spread out around her shoulders, and he could tell she still wasn't sure what to believe.

"You and I were…" he looked at Hermione, who was trying her hardest to let Harry handle it himself. "Ginny, you and I were very special friends."

She raised an eyebrow.

Hermione snorted. "Harry, she's almost twelve, she's not an idiot."

Harry threw her a disparaging look. "We were married before you were eighteen years old."

"So, why'd you come all the way back if we were happy?" She paused, a strange look possessing her face. "We _were_ happy, weren't we?"

He gazed at her tenderly. "We were happy enough that when I lost you, I knew I'd do anything to get you back with me, even change the course of time."

"I died?"

Harry nodded solemnly. "Your entire family, except for your father and Percy were killed one afternoon at the Burrow. Hermione and I were both working at the time."

"Why does it feel like Hermione's more important than just your best friend?" she asked shrewdly.

"Well, Ron and Hermione were married. And when you died, she and another friend sent me back here so that I could fix things."

"But you haven't."

Harry's face shut down. This was the moment he had been dreading – just like the dreams he used to have just after Ginny died. He'd wake up screaming in the middle of the night. The terrors that had come to him were Ginny, sitting on the foot of the bed, crying, asking him why he had broken his promises to her, telling him she would have been better off, safer, with someone else, with anyone other than him.

"Harry didn't think that the diary would possess you this time, with how happy you've been," Hermione said, realizing that Harry wasn't going to respond. "And he was right."

"The diary possessed me in the past – future?" Ginny's eyes were narrowed.

"Yes, but Harry saved you before Riddle, that's Voldemort, could come back to life. The diary was sucking the soul from you, and the only way to break the enchantments was to destroy the diary."

"Merlin, that means…Lavender," Ginny's face was ghostlike.

"You showed her the diary?"

Ginny nodded slowly. "We were talking one night and I thought… She loved Tom, she took him. She needed him more than I did." She looked at Harry. "I had Harry paying attention to me; I didn't need Tom. Is that why you were so nice to me?"

Harry finally found his voice. "No," he croaked. "I was nice to you because I love you."

She didn't seem to know how to respond to that, so instead she turned to Hermione. "Does that mean Lavender is dead? Why did you bring me here? Is Ron going to be okay? Am I going home?"

Hermione looked uneasy. "Harry's in charge here, Ginny, I can't really answer all of your questions. Lavender is dead and Harry brought us here to protect us from Voldemort.

"I also think that Professor Snape will alert Professor Dumbledore so Ron and all the other students will be as safe as they can with V-Voldemort on the loose. As for going home, well, I'm waiting to hear that for myself."

Harry could feel their eyes on him, and he cleared his throat. "Hermione, I need you here for at least until September, to work with you on Occlumency – you are guarding my secret now. Ginny, I'll be honest. I don't want to send you home where I can't keep an eye on you, but I think I owe it to you and your family to take you back to the Burrow as soon as possible."

It was going to rip his heart out to let her out of his sight for even a second, but he knew that Ginny needed something that at this point he couldn't offer her – a life.


	10. Care for a Lemon Drop, Albus Dumbledore?

A/N: The last chapter was a problem for some people, but I had to make a decision to escalate the plot, and this is how I chose to do it. As for Harry not fighting a 'weak' sixteen year old Tom, or finding the diary, I can only say that Harry's level of obsession with Ginny is so great that he would not put her in a situation in which she was likely to not survive. Plus, he had Dumbledore and the teachers looking for him, too. I hope you'll hang in there with me, and keep reviewing. This is a short interlude of sorts, but I'm working steadily on the next chapter.

# # #

A lemon drop provided no comfort for an elderly man, not anymore.

Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. Civilized conversation and comfort were practically extinct these days, especially for a man who had the Minister on his back for wanting to alert the people to the threat of Voldemort and three missing students.

Harry Potter had proved Albus' suspicions one hundred percent correct. He had known there was something off about the snide little boy, that he would happily disregard rules and put other students in danger.

Dumbledore couldn't imagine where Potter was hiding, and why Hermione Granger, the most talented witch in her year, was as of yet unable to escape with Ginny. Unless, of course, Potter had her under some sort of spell and Granger, against her will, was helping him contain an innocent first year.

Mr. and Mrs. Brown were grieving, and had left with their daughter's body five days ago, when Poppy had confirmed Albus' suspicions and had told the parents that their daughter had indeed been involved in resurrecting the most evil wizard that ever lived. Dumbledore's problem was how to fit in Tom Riddle's return (because evidently Salazaar Slytherin had indeed created a secret chamber under the school, which had been discovered twice: first by Lavender Brown and Ginny Weasley, and then secondly by Harry Potter.) with Potter's escape from the school with Weasley and Granger.

Severus had, at first, campaigned for the idea that Potter was obviously mad and had broken numerous school rules by going to rescue the girls. After a trip to the dungeons, Snape had begun to calm himself down, and had hypothesized that perhaps Potter had found out that the girls were over their heads with the possessed diary, and that it was a twisted sense of nobility leading Potter down into the chamber.

But neither scenario really settled well with the Headmaster. He was well aware that Tom Riddle had spent the greater part of his time at Hogwarts researching the Chamber, and he could only guess that Harry had been doing the same thing – perhaps for a different, but no less frightening reason.

The attitude with which Potter conducted himself, and had since he arrived at Hogwarts, was very disconcerting. He was haughty and disrespectful to Albus, but was always courteous with other – a select few, strangely enough – teachers. He had a certain fondness for his head of house, Minerva McGonagall, and treated her with flawless manners and the upmost civility. Professor Snape, however, was accustomed to a cool indifference, a frightening rage, or a biting sarcasm depending on the day of the week. It didn't sit well with Albus, to see the boy consorting with boys like Draco Malfoy, but he also was followed around relentlessly by Ron, Molly and Arthur's youngest boy.

It reminded Albus of another student, one with the same charming good looks and intellect, a boy who became a different person if he was speaking with someone who could grant him a favor. Perhaps Harry had different goals, but he was becoming more and more like Tom Riddle.

Albus could only hope that Harry didn't become another Lord Voldemort.

If Harry came back from underground, Dumbledore would have no choice but to expel him. He had broken so many rules that Albus didn't want to even confess them to the board, which was, with the exception of Lucius Malfoy, pressuring him to welcome Potter back with open arms. The new book – which was another strike against Potter as far as Dumbledore was concerned – _My First Eleven Years_, was already climbing the best seller lists in the literary section of the _Prophet._

The public would denounce Hogwarts and the once beloved Headmaster if he punished Potter, and there was no way the Ministry – namely Fudge – would risk his position as Minister to prosecute Harry for anything, especially expulsion.

It seemed as though Dumbledore's hands were tied, and tied tightly. Almost as if someone had planned this all along.

He had no idea how Potter was hiding – how well could a twelve year old student conceal himself? There must be someone helping him. And as a precaution, the Dursley home, where Harry's aunt lived, was being monitored on the off chance that Harry was so desperate for food and shelter that he went back to the last safe place he knew.

He and Minerva were currently at odds, mostly because they had such different opinions about Potter. She saw the boy as a true Gryffindor and a skilled student with impeccable manners. Dumbledore had tried his hardest to get her to see that perhaps Potter was not as polite as he portrayed himself, but she refused to hear a word against him. _It's a feeling I have,_ she had told him sternly. _I feel he is to be trusted._

Nevertheless, there would be an Order meeting that night, to discuss the threat posed by Voldemort, and by Harry Potter, and McGonagall would attend as his lieutenant. Their priorities included recruiting, educating the public, and searching for Harry Potter.


	11. Midnight Rider

# # #

Two weeks passed quietly at the house down the lane from Hogsmeade.

Silently, almost, in mourning for the death of Lavender Brown and all of those who would soon fall at the hands of Voldemort and his followers.

The _Prophet_ was still being delivered, but there was no sign of anyone being aware of Voldemort's return. However, there was plenty of coverage over Ginny's kidnapping. The _Prophet _was still very much in favor of Harry, and were only taking tentative steps toward blaming Harry for the kidnapping. Most of the coverage made it simply seem like there had been a tragic accident, highlighted the grieving Browns, and inquired as to the reason, noble of course, why Harry Potter felt it was best for Ginny to take her away.

He smiled humorlessly. "They don't know it's because I'm a coward," he said over breakfast one morning.

Hermione wasn't laughing either. "Harry you have to move past this. Lavender was hidden with the diary – it could've been anywhere in the Chamber – or in the entire underground of Hogwarts!

"Ginny was your top priority," she said, lowering her voice as a yawning Ginny walked into the kitchen in her dressing gown. "And that's nothing to be ashamed of."

Ginny didn't comment on the seriousness of their faces, she simply sat down and took a piece of bacon from the platter, and chewed on it thoughtfully. Harry was still feeling so guilty that he really hadn't spent that much time with her – his focus had been on protecting Hermione's mind as much as possible. Hermione was improving, but she was still a few months away before she could stand up to Snape, and perhaps years away before she could last a few minutes against Dumbledore.

He'd told her they would just have to trust Dumbledore's goodness in that he wouldn't attempt to break into the mind of a thirteen year old witch. Sometimes Harry was so consumed in his madness that he forgot to remember all of the qualities that had made Albus his hero once upon a time. Things were terrible now, but they weren't close to where they used to be. For one he was now surrounded by the most important people in his life – his wife and his best friend. He wished Ron were there; that he could somehow teach Ron Occlumency in a short period of time, but the reality of it was that Ron was too much of a liability at the moment. Simply glancing into the chocolate brown eyes of Ginny made him want to clench the secret in his fists and hold it close to his chest.

All he wanted to do was make her safe.

He could tell she wasn't happy. No matter how enthused she pretended to be about her new bedroom or how much she smiled when he promised to bring her a present from Diagon Alley next time James Evans journeyed there. He often stood outside her bedroom door, pressing his ear against the wood, and listened to her soft cries of anguish over everything – her confusion over Harry, Lavender's death, and the separation from her family. He knew she missed Molly something dreadful, no matter how strong she tried to be when she knew he was watching.

This wasn't the reason he had shot his memories into the past. He hadn't meant for it to cause her so much more misery, more than she had experienced in her first year at Hogwarts. The only thing he had succeeded in was making her more miserable than before and losing another life – one that wouldn't have been lost in the first place.

"Would you like to go back to the Burrow, Ginny?" Harry asked, breaking into the silence.

Her eyes flew up to meet his, and he saw more light in them than in the previous fortnight. "Really?" she asked. "I can go home today?"

He nodded, avoiding Hermione's questioning gaze. "The term is over in another month, so I don't think there's much chance of you being sent back to Hogwarts. If I know Molly, she'll be keeping a close eye on you for quite some time. Either way – I'm sure that either Riddle fled Hogwarts or Dumbledore scared him off."

"I'll go pack my trunk," she said quickly, though he knew for a fact she'd been packed since the day she arrived.

"Ginevra," he said calmly.

She twisted around, frowning at him.

"There are a few things I'd like to discuss with you."

Hermione rose gracefully from her seat, sending Harry a warning look. "I'll just go practice clearing my mind," she said lightly.

He gestured to the open chair next to him, which Ginny took. "I love your family, Ginny, more than anything in the world," he said, silently adding, _except for you._ "But there are things they can't know."

He could tell it was hard for her, but she put on her bravest face.

"You are not to say anything about my secret or let anyone know that Hermione is learning Occlumency. Professor Dumbledore and perhaps even an Auror will be questioning you, but no matter what they tell you, you won't be able to remember the location of this house because you aren't the secret keeper. Do not mention anything about the Fidelius Charm, though I'm sure Dumbledore will figure it out eventually."

"When will I see you again, Harry?" she asked softly. No matter what they went through, it was immensely comforting to know that she would always hold a special spot in her heart for him.

He smiled. "I promise to be there whenever you need me, for as long as you need me. It's why I'm here. Think of me as your own personal guarding troll."

She giggled and his life made sense again.

# # #

Harry watched as Ginny was tugged into mum's hearty embrace. Molly was fussing already, and Ginny had only just walked out of the woods, dragging her trunk which was resting in a conjured trolley.

_Where have you been? Were you with Harry Potter? Where did he take you?  
_

A pang in his heart made him want to _accio_ Ginny back to him, to Apparate away with her, but it was not to be. He turned on the spot, and Disapparated back to the house, where Hermione was currently rereading his autobiography, which had just been released in Flourish and Blotts.

When he entered the roomy kitchen, she looked up from the book, grinning at him.

_Chapter Three – Dumbledore's Plan_

_ I never harbored any lasting resentment against Albus Dumbledore because I know it was not his intention to cause me any misery or kill my childhood, as it were. Be that as it may, I can't say that Dumbledore leaving me on the steps of my Aunt's house was a positive step in making my life as normal or as full of love as possible._

_ Life, for me, went in the saddest, most miserable direction it possibly could have gone. I lived shut up in a broom cupboard in the house and my cousin would beat me up on the way home from school. No one had ever said 'Happy Christmas' to me until I was eleven years old, when I finally found friends and a family at Hogwarts School. At home at P----- D----, my mere existence was enough to provoke verbal abuse on the part of my Uncle, and a steady indifference from my Aunt. There were times I honestly wondered why no one cared enough to come and rescue me from my own personal version of Hell…_

"This is magnificent!" Hermione said. "I can just see thousands of old witches sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, crying over this! The diction may be a bit too impressive for a twelve-year-old, though."

He grinned at her. "No worries there. I told Mr. Lovegood that I hired someone to 'punch it up' for me. He thinks I basically dictated to a ghostwriter."

"I wouldn't put it past the Editor of the _Quibbler_ to be gullible," she said haughtily. "But I doubt people are really going to care either way. You're the Golden Boy of the entire Wizarding world."

"Unfortunately, that's the last thing I'm good at," he replied.

She gave him a quizzical look. "How so?"

"I was pretty much anti-social my entire life, until I fell in love with Ginny, when I realized that no matter what I did and where I went, there would never be any 'I' any more. It would always be about where _we _were going and what was best for _us._ And then, when she died, I went crazy for a long time."

"I'm not sure I understand."

He propped his feet up on the table. "I… It was like something broke inside me, you know? And it was like, all of a sudden, I was back to being that kid who didn't want to talk to anyone anymore. You were really great for me back then, but publically I was known as something of a recluse."

She was still frowning, but she seemed to understand his meaning.

"Does it hurt that Dumbledore distrusts you?" she asked, frankly.

He thought about it for a second, and then took his time, responding slowly. "I suppose it does, though I know I fully deserve it. I can't blame Albus for wanting to protect his cause – because I know I wouldn't hesitate to eliminate him if he were the one threatening my objectives. So in a way, he's right about me. As it is, he's so passive that he's basically harmless."

She shook her head. "You didn't answer the question. I asked you if you're hurt by Dumbledore's suspicion, not more battle strategy."

His shoulders slumped. Just when he thought he was actually opening up, she bluntly pulled the façade away. Sighing, he put his feet back on the ground, and leaned over the table. "Yes, it hurts. It's like… I dunno, my father or something, telling me he's disappointed in where I've chosen to take my life. And I want to tell him – so that he'll maybe love me again, but then, when I really think about it, I realize that Ginny is more important than Albus being my mentor again. There's also…"

"Also?" she prompted.

"I'm also so angry with him."

"Why are you so angry with him?"

"For starters, he left me! I had to deal with it all on my own – Voldemort, the Order, dying! And then this dreadful time travel, it's all because he wasn't strong enough, didn't know enough to fix everything! And I know that if I tell him differently, that he'll still think he knows best, that his ideas for the 'greater good' are still going to seem more important than the lives of my family. I know that Ginny and I and you and Ron are all expendable to save the Magical world.

"And I'm not okay with that."

She smiled at him. "I think you can do both, Harry."

# # #

The next phase of the plan was breaking Sirius Black out of Azkaban.

Harry obviously wasn't in touch with the Weasley family and he didn't know if they were still going on their family trip to Egypt.

Though Sirius would have no trouble breaking out of Azkaban, Harry was sure that the escape could be orchestrated differently, more efficiently, as to kill two flobberworms with one stone. If Harry's new Order was going to be up and running by the time Voldemort was interested in the Prophecy... which Harry supposed would still be around fifth year, he needed to start right away.

Tom Riddle was going to have a lot more trouble getting started than before. First of all, Harry was going to take care of the extra Azkaban security, so he was going to be without his most faithful servants – plus Pettigrew, who Harry was pretty sure he was going to kill with his bare hands. He'd need to sneak into the Burrow before Dumbledore leaked the news of Voldemort's return to the _Prophet_ to get rid of the rat, but it didn't seem like it would pose too much of a problem.

He now understood the maniacal look of rage in Sirius' eyes the night Pettigrew got away on the Hogwarts grounds. He had said that Harry's dad wouldn't want for Sirius and Remus to become murderers, and perhaps that was true. However, now Harry knew exactly how tempting it was to forget about what his parents would want, and simply give into his desire to quench his thirst for revenge.

Harry was positive the Order of the Phoenix had already been reconvened, which meant that the most important contact Harry would make was at the moment in touch and allied with Dumbledore. Mad-Eye Moody was a necessity if Harry was going to make progress quickly, so three nights after leaving Ginny at the Burrow, Harry Apparated just outside the wards of Moody's current residence.

The house was small, built with grey stone, and framed by a spacious front lawn. A crab apple tree grew over the dirt pathway, and there were no neighbors to speak of. Harry wasn't sure what sort of security system Moody had in place at this point in time, and decided to take his chances. He had to have a serious discussion with the man about things that he wasn't sure were one hundred percent believable. Perhaps if he went in there and calmly knocked on the door, Moody would be more receptive to an adolescent pseudo-fugitive knocking on his door in the middle of the night.

That idea was shot to hell because as soon as Harry stepped in to the unkempt lawn his mouth opened involuntarily, and he let out an unattractive yelp. And another.

He jumped back onto the lane, cursing inwardly. A fucking intruder charm. Deciding that stealth was going to get him nowhere, he braved the noise again, and headed for the door.

"_Confringo," _he heard a gruff voice shout, and the front door flew off its hinges, burst into flame, and hit Harry directly in the chest. The wooden door was massive, and, in his twelve—almost thirteen—year old body, Harry was momentarily trapped underneath it.

_"Aguamenti_," he shouted, trying to quell the embers now embedding themselves in the skin of his stomach._ "Wingardium Leviosa_." The door sailed gracefully off of him, the flames crackling in protest. There were spots on his shirt that had been burned into his skin.

Harry was still panting, wishing he were a hardened Auror again. Yes, magically he could still hold his own against a giant like Moody, but there were things he couldn't control, and his stamina and muscle were going to be diminished for a while yet.

He called out to Moody, but the sound was muffled by the groan he released as a result of the burns throbbing on his abdomen. He took a hesitant step forward; Moody hadn't used anything that could be categorized as lethal, but he didn't want to be on the receiving end of some of the curses he knew Alastor used to use.

"_Diffindo!" _

"Oi!" Harry's torso was slashed roughly. It was deep, bled profusely and stung so badly that he pressed his right forearm into his side.

"Maybe that'll teach you not to break into other people's homes!"

"This is Harry Potter, Moody! I need to talk to you, you bloody git," he added in an undertone.

Moody didn't seem in the mood to talk, sending a hex that Harry remembered with a wince from his Auror days. He dodged barely, but let out a gasp as a simultaneously cast Stinging Hex left an angry bruise on his left knee.

"_Furunculus__,"_ Harry retorted, catching Moody by surprise, if the grunt of protest was anything to go by. Obviously Moody had thought before that he was facing a far more lethal opponent, one that wouldn't use something as elementary as a boil inducing curse.

Moody was feeling aggravated, Harry could tell. The spells shooting out at Harry were becoming more frequent, and quickly becoming more vicious. A spell singed the ends of Harry's hair, and his eyes widened. The next spell hit him before he could process the near-miss.

"_Incarcerous!"_

Ropes bound Harry's arms to his sides, creating painful friction over his still bleeding wound. _Of course,_ he thought, mentally kicking himself. The curse hadn't been meant to hurt Harry at all—it was a distraction so that Moody could catch and question him. He fell on his back, his head hitting the debris covered walkway. "Relashio!" The ropes burst, and Harry rolled over on the walkway, breathing deeply.

He sent his own Stinging Hex Moody's way, making contact—or so he thought, it was a moonless night and very dark—and then paused to catch his breath.

"Stupefy! Stupefy! STUPEFY!" Harry yelled. Moody was dodging respectfully for an old man, but a non-verbal Tripping Jinx from Harry dropped him like a tree. Harry stood up fully, breathing deeply, before he quickly bound and stupefied Moody. Bending down, he took Moody's wand and tucked it in the back pocket of his jeans, and then levitated him into the house, muttering a brief spell to conjure a shoddy looking front door.

Moody's house looked exactly like you would expect the home of a paranoid Auror to look. The furniture was minimal, the lights dark and walls bare. Harry felt as though Moody had performed a Freezing Charm—he had broken out in goose bumps the minute he entered the house.

He laid Moody on the lumpy old couch in the sitting room – though Harry wasn't sure whether or not he was doing Moody a favor. It looked uncomfortable and worthy of competing with Mrs. Figg's couch in smell.

Harry looked himself over, surveying the damage from his impromptu duel. His shirt had been white, but it now looked closer to pink in some areas, and dark, blood red in others. His wound from the Severing Charm was still bleeding freely, and his burns were bubbling at his navel. Scratches from the wood and bruises from being crushed under the door stung when the cold droplets clung to and burned them.

He did what he could with the wound, which only consisted of binding the outermost layer of skin. It was still tender and hurt when he applied a bit of pressure on it.

Pointing his wand at Moody, he murmured, "_Ennervate."_ The Auror's eyes snapped open, and he glared at Harry.

"Potter, eh? A kid beat me in a duel?"

"Not exactly," Harry said coolly. "Can I trust you enough to remove your bindings and give you back your wand?"

Moody coughed. "Never trust an opponent, Potter, it's a fundamental rule. But I'm not going to attack you, if that's what you're asking."

"We aren't enemies, and all I ask is that you hear me out, Alastor."

"On a first name basis, now, are we?" the man chuckled, taking his wand from Harry and stretching.

"Well, after I graduated from the Academy you said I had earned your respect."

Moody didn't say anything. He muttered something and the sleeve of his green button down shirt split down the middle, revealing a wand holster. He tucked his wand away, and limped into the house's tiny kitchen, where tea was already prepared.

"Can I interest you in a cup of tea?" Moody asked gruffly. "I wasn't expecting company this time of night."

"I'm fine, thanks," Harry said, hiding a smile.

Moody nodded. "Whoever's been teaching you's done an okay job. Never eat or drink anything an enemy offers you," he said approvingly.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" Harry asked, leaning against the wall. "I'm not your enemy, and you aren't mine. At least, not yet."

"I'm not sure what you want from me, Potter."

Harry looked at his teacher intensely. "You once told me I could be greater than Voldemort or Dumbledore."

The old man opened his mouth to protest, but Harry cut him off. "You told me that Voldemort was missing a heart—the passion—to ever be truly great, and you told me Dumbledore was running on plain nobility. You said that nobility wouldn't sustain an entire army, but I had what it would take."

"I'm not following you," said Moody, a curious look on his face.

"I have Voldemort's ruthlessness and I have Dumbledore's compassion – but I also have what neither one of them has, something, or perhaps more importantly some_one_ to fight for. On my wedding day you told me that the redhead was going to win the war singlehandedly.

"You were right, Moody. You're always right, and I need your help."

Moody raised a bushy eyebrow. "I'm guessing you've gone and bollixed up time or something of the sort. It'd have to be, for me to have taught you. I honestly doubt it's Polyjuice."

Harry let out a laugh. "If I hadn't come back, you'd be intimately familiar with Polyjuice by next summer."

"I don't want to know about what might happen," Moody said sternly. "What I do want to know is why you're here, what you plan on doing to stop it whatever it is, and what it is you think I can do to help you."

That was Moody—straight to the point, every single time.

"Do you know about the prophecy made to Dumbledore when I was born? The one given by Sybll Trelawny?"

"The Divination professor at Hogwarts?" Moody asked. "Ruddy crackpot if you ask me."

"Most of the time she is," Harry said. "But this was a real prophecy, and it said that the person Voldemort marked his equal would have a power the Dark Lord didn't have, and that this person—me—would either kill Voldemort or be killed by him. Neither of us could live while the other survived."

Moody didn't look particularly shocked. "It figures. I mean, the Boy Who Lived saved Britain once, there had to be something special about you. But what went wrong? How did you lose?"

Harry sighed. "I defeated Voldemort in the last timeline."

When he met Moody's eyes, he flinched at the outrage displayed there. "Are you bloody daft? If you made it out alive, why the fuck would you come back?"

"The Weasleys died, Dumbledore died, Tonks died, Remus died, Sirius died… There were too many casualties," he finished brokenly.

"Don't give me that shit, Potter," Moody growled. "You came back because your bloody girlfriend died, dinnt she?"

Clenching his jaw, Harry said, "My _wife_ died."

"So suddenly the fucking world revolves around you? I take it back—I _didn't_ teach you. If I had, you would have known that there are sacrifices you make for the—"

"For the 'greater good?'" Harry asked derisively. "That's shit and you know it! Dumbledore kept too many secrets and almost everyone I loved died because of it. So I thought that maybe there was something else I could be doing instead of wallowing around in constant misery. I could not only save the lives of the people _I_ love, but I could save a lot of other peoples' lives too."

Moody was silent for a moment. "Well, what's the plan?"

He felt relieved that Moody seemed to be following his lead, but kept his expression neutral. "Sirius Black is my godfather and he is about to escape Azkaban. I need you to make it easier on him, take him to my safe house."

"It'll be risky, I'm pretty high profile. And I'll be expected to investigate, as a member of the Order. I assume you already know the Order has been reformed?"

"I knew the consequences of removing Ginny and Hermione from Hogwarts. But when I failed to control the circumstances of Voldemort's return, I ran out of options."

"So it was fumbled?"

Harry frowned. "It wasn't my intention, but it seems that the Chamber of Secrets was fated to happen—this time I had paid more attention to Ginny Weasley, and that changed the course of time. Lavender Brown got involved accidentally."

"Albus is very concerned about you. He won't tell everyone in the Order the details of his suspicions, but he did tell me that he's worried that you're going to become as terrible and arrogant as Voldemort."

"I'm not really all that worried what Dumbledore thinks at this point," Harry said shortly. "Will you do me this favor?"

Moody seemed to think things over. "I'm with you, Potter. Every step of the way, from here on out."

Harry let out a breath in relief. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. Also—I'd like to have a meeting with Nymphadora Tonks. I know you're probably going to be recruiting her for the Order when she makes it through training, but I'd prefer to recruit her right out of the Academy."

"Recruit her for what?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "My new organization," he said. "It's going to be independent of Dumbledore, the Ministry, and Voldemort."

"I'll set it all up," Moody said, giving Harry a twisted smile, which stretched a few of the scars on his worn face. "Where are you living at the moment?"

"I'll have to get my Secret Keeper to write the address. I'll send it to you by a snowy owl tomorrow. The parchment will look blank when you get it, but tap it with your wand and say, 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good,' and the words will appear. Sirius will break out of Azkaban at the beginning of the summer, so you'll have to infiltrate immediately."

Moody's eyes widened. "You can do the Fidelius Charm?"

Harry crooked an eyebrow and grinned. "I was taught personally by you and Remus Lupin, not to mention Dumbledore. If I can't do it, then who can?"

His ally gave him a toothy grin. "I have a feeling things are going to get pretty interesting around you, Potter. But I hope you know what you're doing."

"I didn't know what I was doing last time, and I defeated Voldemort," Harry said, deadly serious. "Can you imagine what I can do when I know all the facts?"

"You and Dumbledore could do a lot of good work together," Moody said absently.

Truthfully, Harry had had the same thought many times over the past few weeks. With all of Dumbledore's experience and his sincere desire to better the world, he and Harry could accomplish so many things so much faster than while working against each other. Perhaps when Harry assured Moody he knew what he was doing, Harry had been wrong. Maybe if Harry was really wise he would put aside all of the anger and ally himself with Dumbledore, and put his trust in the man.

Too bad Dumbledore had made the same mistake not trusting Harry seventeen years ago. Now, things were going to have to get much worse between them if they were ever going to get any better.


	12. Mirky Waters

# # #

_"And you'll write to me?" Her big brown eyes were showing him her vulnerability for the first time since she was twelve years old._

_He smiled tenderly at her, taking her chin in his hand and pulling her up for a gentle kiss. "I'll write you every time I'm thinking of you," he said. "Which will be every minute of every day, I imagine."_

_"Poor Hedwig," she said, giggling. "You don't have to write _every_ day. Just most of them."_

_"I'll miss you," he said seriously, pulling her firmly against him. She was surprised at first; his physical expression of their relationship around her family was always Percy-approved and modest—and here he was, holding her in a loving embrace, for all of the Hogwarts student body to see, not to mention all of her family._

_"I don't have to go," she answered, though they'd had this conversation a million times already. "Fred and George wouldn't turn me away for a job; Ron didn't take them up on the offer."_

_He sighed, resting his forehead against hers. "You can't stay home, Gin, no matter how much I want you to. You have a whole year of school to get through."_

_"You didn't come last year," she said stubbornly._

_"Dumbledore died, Ginny. I owed it to him to join the Auror Department."_

_"You owed it to him to drop out of school a year early?" she asked, skeptically._

_Harry kissed her once more. "I'd rather not waste this time with you arguing about things that don't matter. You're already on the roster for this year, and I am already working at the Ministry. I love you, and I'll miss you."_

_She was momentarily speechless. "You love me?" she asked breathily._

_His face reddened; he hadn't meant to say that quite so soon, and definitely not after their disagreement. Nevertheless, he nodded. "I love you," he affirmed._

_She smiled at him, ecstatic. "I love you."_

# # #

Bill had died pretty early on in the war; no one had found him after the first Hogwarts breech, and when they did find him he had choked to death on his own blood, a claw mark from Greyback embedded in his pale neck.

Harry hadn't, at sixteen, been able to comprehend the genius that was Bill Weasley, curse-breaker extraordinaire. Now, having spent the greater part of an hour gently picking at the elaborate wards Bill had undoubtedly set up for his family in the wake of Ginny's 'abduction,' Harry realized just how brilliant and capable Bill was at his job. It had taken Harry two years of waking up at five in the morning and training with Moody until five in the afternoon to be able to shut down Bill's wards. And though the Fidilus Charm over the Hogsmeade house was full proof and very advanced, it was not at all as subtle as the wards Bill could create.

Bill's name was added to the list of possible members of his organization.

Harry slipped into the back garden through the creaky wooden fence, closing it firmly behind him. It was dark, twenty-four hours since his confrontation with Moody, who he'd owled that evening with the address of his home, Number 1 Indus Lane.

Hermione was getting things ready that minute, using the privacy that the unplottable nature of the house gave to perform undetectable underage magic. He needed a cage to keep a rat he needed to keep quiet and out of the way for a while. Peter Pettigrew's time at the Burrow was going to come to an abrupt end.

He mounted the broom clutched in his hand, and, being careful to stay low as the break he'd managed to make in the wards wasn't very large, flew to the first bedroom's window. There Ginny Weasley slept.

Tapping at the window was risky; Harry knew from experience that Molly Weasley had keener ears than a werewolf's. He grinned a little at the memory of him creeping down the stairs the night before his wedding to sneak a few minutes…or hours…with Ginny, only to be thwarted and scolded by Molly, who was stationed outside her daughter's bedroom door, sleeping bag and a cup of tea as her companions.

Ginny woke up abruptly; he watched as she rubbed her eyes and looked around her bedroom for the disturbance. He cringed, but tapped on the window once more, drawing her wide eyes to him. A finger to his lips told her to stay quiet, and he whispered the unlocking charm, and lifted the window up.

"_Silencio,"_ he whispered, cutting off the sound to the rest of the house. "How are you, Ginny?"

"What are you doing here? Is Hermione okay?"

Harry couldn't help himself; he pulled her into a hug, which she returned timidly. "How've you been?"

She gave him a wry grin, which caught his breath for a moment. It was so very like a shadow of the smiles she used to wear when she was her boldest. "You were right about mum hovering. I haven't been by myself for more than a minute since I've been back. Mum checks on me constantly."

"I'm sorry that it has to be like this right now," he said sincerely. "But I need you to do me a favor."

"Right now?" she asked.

He nodded. "This very important. You know Scabbers?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, Harry, I'm so traumatized by my kidnapping that I've forgotten all about my brother's mangy pet rat."

Chuckling, he replied, "I suppose I deserved that. I need you to get him for me. Sneak down to Ron's room and bring him up to me." He raised his wand, performed a tricky little movement, and conjured a tiny cage. Handing it to her, he said, "Put him in here and bring him up as soon as you can, I'll wait here."

She sent him a questioning look, but he didn't want to say anything more until he had the rat safely locked away.

# # #

Harry's wand shot another Silencing Spell, this time at the cage because Peter was now squealing loudly enough to startle Ginny, who was staring at the rat with a look of horror in her eyes.

"That… that _slept_ with my brother! It's a person?" She sounded as though she couldn't quite believe it.

"Yes," he said, eyes darkening with rage. "This is the man who betrayed my parents to Voldemort."

"Are… are you going to _kill_ him?" she asked quietly.

_Don't kill Pettigrew._ Hermione's words echoed in his ears. He'd done a lot of things she probably wouldn't approve of since he'd been back, including isolating himself from Dumbledore. As mature as her thirteen year old self was, Harry still couldn't help but feel like something had happened in those years between her childhood and the war—perhaps experience really was as important as intellect.

"No," he said finally. "I won't kill him."

He couldn't read the look on her face exactly, but there was a trace of fear peeking through her expression. She shifted a little on her feet. "Mum's sending me back to Hogwarts," she said finally.

He breathed a sigh of relief; it would be much easier to keep in contact with Ginny if she was at Hogwarts, rather than under the watchful eye of Molly Weasley.

"You still have the mirror?"

She nodded. "It's under the lining of my trunk, just like you said."

The circles under her eyes were pronounced, and he could see them now that her face was turned up toward him. There was an underlying sadness in those eyes, which was now readily apparent now that he wasn't drowning in his own troubles. He had plans and wasn't constantly berating himself for leaving her to the Chamber. Now, he realized that perhaps the old Ginny, the one who had been so resilient always, had been the product of five years of healing. This Ginny Weasley wasn't yet a month fresh from experiencing the death of a classmate, and Harry had again been neglecting her.

"How do you feel, Ginny?"

She pulled away from him and sat down amidst the crumpled bedcovers. "I don't know what to say to you."

"Gin…" She silenced him with a wave of her hand.

"Sometimes you treat me like a twenty-five-year-old woman, Harry, and it feels empowering…I guess, but sometimes you treat me like I'm a five-year-old, like I'm just a baby due for a feeding every few hours. It's confusing… to be someone so important to you."

"You're the _only_ one important to me," he said hoarsely.

"But there's also the fact that I'm not even sure how to feel or to act," she went on, like he hadn't spoken. "I hear Lavender's giggling in my dreams," she said, looking at him with horror in her brown eyes. "Though it sounds much more like screaming when I wake up.

"Mum thinks I've been through trauma, and that I should do regular things," she smiled wryly. "Except those things tend to be cooking and cleaning rather than anything I'd actually like to do."

His heart ached he wanted to help her so much. "I'm so sorry," he said quietly. "I was so… unprepared for all of this. I don't know how to help you."

She nodded. "I figured as much. I was plenty angry when I got back, that you had known all about the diary but didn't tell me and that even after the Chamber you were still bringing me home." At his startled look, she amended, "I mean I _wanted_ to come back, but I felt put out that you let me, for some, undoubtedly girlish, reason. I guess I'm trying to say that I don't hate you, even though you didn't do what I imagine you set out to do."

"I _did_ fail, and I _don't_ expect you to forgive me."

A brilliant smile broke out on her face; half shy and half amused. "It'll take some getting used to, I imagine, but how could I not forgive you? Not every boy will find out how to go back through time just to save the girl he loves."

He gave her a tentative hug. "I've told you before, Ginny. I'll do anything for you, anything it takes."

He tucked her into bed, giving her a brief kiss on the forehead, and then was off, back through the window and away from the Burrow and the Weasley property. Harry knew that the girl he had lived with and loved as a young man was buried inside of little Ginny Weasley, and all he had to do was save the world in five years to win her love again.

For a man like Harry Potter, that was seriously child's play.

# # #

Harry could barely contain his rage until he made it safely into the cellar with Pettigrew. Hermione was upstairs studying, no doubt, so he soundproofed the walls to make sure he and Peter were well and truly alone.

The spell to provoke a change rolled off the tip of his tongue, satisfying him when Peter's human form erupted out of his body. Unfortunately for Peter, Harry had neglected to take him out of the cage he had been crawling around in as a rat, and the man screamed as the metal bent and broke, digging into his rapidly expanding flesh. Peter seemed unable to form coherent words; settling for sobbing nonsensical words which sounded sweet and clear to Harry's ears.

"What's wrong, Peter? Aren't you glad to see me?" He aimed a kick at Peter's torso. "You aren't? Well, maybe you just don't know who I am. My father's name was James, and my mother's name was Lily? I've heard from a great many people that you knew them quite well. Is that true? I think it is. I'm Harry, if you can't remember me." He kicked Pettigrew again.

"S-s-s-stop, please!"

"Stop squealing you pathetic rat!" Harry's mind was somehow disconnected form his body, and he kicked, kicked, and kicked at Wormtail's pudgy frame—his rage so great that he couldn't stop his body from doing exactly what it wanted to do: beat Peter Pettigrew to within an inch of his life.

"P-p-p-please!"

A squelching sound signaled the dislocation of Peter's knee. The man screamed in agony, clutching his thigh. "Don't touch it," Harry commanded. Peter earned another kick by ignoring Harry and continuing to weep and stubbornly hold onto his damaged appendage.

"You're out of shape, Petey. I'm barely thirteen and you just got an Auror style arse kicking. Did you enjoy it? Not the same as a Cruciatus, is it? Answer me!"

Pettigrew vomited bile on the concrete floor of the basement. His face was white, but he met Harry's eyes without flinching. "No," he squeaked. "It isn't the same."

"You know I could kill you at any moment?"

Pettigrew nodded fearfully.

"You know that Voldemort has returned?"

Pettigrew shuddered at the name, but he nodded nonetheless.

"I'm going to let you go, Peter. It's only a matter of time before Tommy wonders where his rat is. He'll wonder where the man who betrayed the Potters is hiding from him. If I keep you long enough, he'll start to wonder if maybe you haven't been a traitor all along. Do you want to suffer the punishment befitting a traitor?"

He muttered something, shaking his head—howling in pain when Harry stepped on his injured knee.

"No! Please, help me!"

Harry raised an eyebrow, though he was sure the drama was wasted on Pettigrew, who was sweating profusely enough that his eyes were screwed shut. "See, that's where we run into trouble. I _never_ make a deal with someone unless they have something to give me. As far as I can see, you've got nothing of value…"

He pretended to consider, looking around the cellar with feigned nonchalance, his heel digging with increased pressure into Wormtail's left ankle. The little man whimpered without much enthusiasm.

"You're a good for nothing sneak," Harry spat, raising his foot quickly and slamming it down again. "But you're attracted to power. Isn't that the only reason you betrayed my parents? Power? If you thought Dumbledore was beating Voldemort, you'd kiss his arse too, wouldn't you? Well, I've got news for you, Pete, I'm running the show now. Anything happens because I _tell_ it to happen. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Peter groaned.

Harry shook his head. "You don't get it," he sighed. "The way I see it, you've got three options. Would you like to hear them?"

"Y-y-yes."

Harry lessened the pressure on Peter's ankle. "You can stop cooperating and can live in a cage in this cellar the rest of your life, or I can kill you right now. Those are the first two options. Do you like either one of those?"

Peter shook his head.

"No, you wouldn't like them," Harry said. "The third option, of course, is that you do what the fuck I tell you, when I tell you, and then I'll let you live for as long as it's convenient for me. I'll have a couple of errands that I'll need someone small and stealthy to do, and you'll do those with a tracking spell on you that is so sophisticated it can tell if you need to take a piss at any given time. And you'll swear your allegiance to me by Unbreakable Vow."

He didn't have to look down to see the desperation in Peter's eyes. "Oh, yes, Pete. You'll be staying here in the cage until I've got someone who will bind us. That way you couldn't betray me if you wanted to.

"Alas, I've got some business to attend to. If you'll excuse me?" A flick of his wand brought about Peter's change to rat form, and he promptly levitated him into the cage stuck to the wall with a Permanent Sticking Charm.

"Good-night, Peter."

# # #

Harry had finally calmed down enough to make it back up the stairs into the coolness of the first floor. His intent was to make Wormtail as uncomfortable as possible, and that meant placing an extra strength Heating Charm over the downstairs area. It was working; the place was like a furnace, but his anger was such that Harry hadn't noticed it until the breath of cool air had hit him as he reached the top step.

His home was what he had always wanted for himself. His childhood had been filled with not only dreams of green light and flying motorcycles, but of a comfortable home where he could live and move freely without the fear of being shut up in a cupboard.

He found Hermione sitting at the kitchen table, a book on Occlumency resting on the table in front of her.

"Ready for me to check your mind?" he asked casually, going to the brand new refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of butterbeer. He uncorked it with a pop, sitting down at the table with a sigh.

She looked queasy all of a sudden. Shifting in her seat, she asked, "Do you suppose I could have another couple of days?"

"I don't expect you to get it right the first time, Hermione," he said kindly.

"I know that…" She searched for the right words. "It's just…"

He shook his head firmly. "After the first time I try to gain entry into your mind, we begin the second phase of training. Once you actually have intrusions to fight against, your mind will feel differently when it's preparing."

"Will you just give me two days, Harry?" she asked stiffly, avoiding his eyes.

"Hermione, what's wrong?"

"Nothing! I am perfectly fine, Harry, spiffy, even," she exclaimed with an air of dignity. She gathered her books and rose from her seat. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll practice mediating in my bedroom." When he managed to snap himself out of his surprised stupor, her bushy hair was gone from the room.

"What the bloody hell?" he asked himself in a low voice. Hermione's behavior had been rational for as long as he had known her, with three exceptions: the first was when she had skived off class the day in first year when Ron had insulted her, the second was when she had sent charmed birds after Ron in their sixth year as punishment for his idiocy, and the third was after Ron was dead, when she was so grief stricken that she had agreed to his harebrained scheme and sent him back in time to redo his life.

_Maybe she misses her family, _Harry thought. It seemed reasonable enough to him, for a teenage girl to be moody and upset when she was away from her mother for almost an entire year.

He didn't have time to pursue the thought further because an alert signaled someone was attempting to Apparate onto the grounds. The only person who knew where he lived was Moody, so he lifted a hole in the wards with a flick of his wand. He'd have to modify them to allow Moody and, perhaps, Tonks in without him having to go through the process—but that was a problem for another day.

Harry moved back into the sitting room, opening the door with another flick of his wand. He chuckled at the sight of Moody's cane poised to knock on the now wide-open door. Moody grimaced at Harry, but it didn't look like his heart was really in it. Behind him was a bewildered looking Nymphadora Tonks, standing on the bottom step of the porch, looking interestedly past Moody and into the house. She didn't appear to have seen Harry yet, and Harry honestly wasn't sure what her reaction would be—or if indeed there would be a surprise; he had left it up to Moody on how to handle things. She could be as well informed as Moody was (Harry doubted this) or she could be completely clueless.

He motioned for Moody to enter.

"Thanks for welcoming us on such short notice," Moody said gruffly.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You mean no notice?" He chuckled again at the half-frown possessing Moody's face.

Tonks stepped cautiously into the house, though the effect was ruined as she tripped on the last step, landing on her face over the threshold.

"Quit fooling around, Nymphadora!" Moody admonished, dragging her back up to her feet. It was a testament, perhaps, to her suspicions that she didn't even protest at the use of her given name.

Harry closed the door behind them with his wand, and restored the wards to their full capacity.

"Nymphadora Tonks, this is Harry Potter," Moody said bluntly. "Harry here is on a 'leave of absence' from school at the moment, and would appreciate you as his fourth recruit for the new organization."

"Actually, she'll be my fifth recruit," Harry interjected, amused at Tonks' facial expression.

"Really? Who'd you snag this time?"

Unable to speak without betraying his emotions, he choked out, "Peter Pettigrew."

"Bloody hell, Potter, you mean to tell me you just hired your parents' killer to help bring down Voldemort?"

Harry shrugged. "I may need his help in the future, not just to free Sirius. I was going to ask you to perform an Unbreakable Vow for his service."

Moody let out a breath. Turning his attention to Tonks, he asked, "Well, Dora? Will you sit down and listen to Harry's offer?"

She seemed to regain a bit of her composure. "You've known where Harry is all this time, and you haven't told Dumbledore?" Her pink hair turned into her natural, mousy brown. "He trusts you more than anyone else…"

"I'm afraid I'm on the side of whoever I think will bring Voldemort down the fastest. I believe in Harry," Moody said simply, limping his way to a sofa and letting himself down on it.

"He's thirteen years old," she said, pointing at Harry, eyes wide.

Harry, who was rather enjoying himself, sat down on a cushy armchair across the room. "I'm actually twelve until the end of July, but that's neither here nor there…"

"Harry has a lot of secrets, Nymphadora, that I think you'll find interesting."

"I don't understand…"

"All in good time," Harry assured her, but he was preoccupied by the sound of footsteps running down the hallway.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted out. "Harry, Hedwig's just come with a letter for you!"

Mystified, he said, "But no one knows where I am!"

Hermione was breathless, nodding in the direction of the other two people in the room. "She's been hunting for a few days, but I didn't think it was out of the usual. _Pringle's Guide to Messenger Owls _says that anywhere from two to five nights is normal, even healthy for a regularly used owl to hunt, unless, of course…"

"Hermione, the letter! Who sent it?" Harry exclaimed, frustrated. Who on Earth had spotted Hedwig long enough to attach a letter to her wing? And why had she trusted that person?

"The letter," she said, worry in her eyes. "Was sent by Professor Dumbledore."

# # #

A/N: Well, that's it for chapter twelve, thanks to all those who have reviewed! I really want to thank Alia Ziaen, who really helps me a lot plotting this story out. I wwwoovveee her. *winks*


	13. Come As You Are

_ He knew the role he was supposed to be playing, but Ginny's hands playing with the shaggy hair at the base of his neck were doing absolutely nothing for his concentration. He reflected on his hair once again with slight remorse—it was long and unruly, perhaps more so than usual. It couldn't be helped; in a war there was hardly time for Mrs. Weasley to pull out her wand to give him a proper haircut. These days there was not a wand unoccupied at any moment—every second was dedicated to the war effort. If hexes weren't being volleyed at out of control Death Eaters, there were robes to be mended, wards to be erected, and wounds to be treated. Diagon Alley was a constant war ground with people scurrying about constantly, wary of the Death Eaters and Order members constantly battling each other for control of the vital part of Magical England. Old Poppy Pomfrey wasn't as agile as she used to be, and there was always something that needed to be done in the hospital wing at Hogwarts—which was now becoming the only place safe for the Order to be healed. St. Mungo's had become too much of a security risk._

_ But this day, Harry was determined, would be for Ginny, and Ginny alone._

_ He and Remus had performed the necessary enchantments over the Burrow's garden, in which they were going to be married. The ceremony had been short and small, including only Ron and Hermione, the rest of the Weasleys, and select members of the Order. Luna Lovegood made it back from her reconnaissance mission abroad to stand up with Ginny alongside Hermione and Harry had never been more grateful to see the blond woman as he had then, witnessing Ginny's excitement at her friend's arrival._

_ And here they were, dancing to the faint music on the wireless, something Harry regretted but had no control over. He wished they could have a real live band—the Weird Sisters, even—but it was too risky for them to hold even a small, uncomplicated ceremony without making the date public by hiring a band and caterers and a florist._

_ Still, she never complained. Harry had refused Mrs. Weasley's insistence that it was improper for Harry to see his bride-to-be before the wedding, though Mrs. Weasley couldn't deny Harry and Ginny did indeed have a sex life (they _had_ been living together for months out of wedlock), and Harry had watched as she busied herself dressing and curling her red hair and applying her make up with no one to help her. Mrs. Weasley was unexpectedly called away for a few hours to help an exhausted Fleur; little William was teething and inconsolable, and Fleur had no one to help her with Bill dead. Molly wouldn't be back until a little before the ceremony began. Kingsley had disappeared, and Hermione was at Grimmauld putting plans together for a rescue mission that would commence immediately after the vows, every second made his rescue even more unlikely._

_ In short, there was no one to do the bridal things with Ginny. She didn't have her mother or her friends around, and it had broken his heart just a little. Until, of course, she had met his eyes through the mirror and grinned._

_ He knew exactly why she was smiling because he was mirroring her expression for the same reason. They were getting married—it didn't matter how sparse the celebrations were to be. It would be perfect._

_ Harry only wished he could dance well. He had his arms wrapped around his Ginny, his _wife_, and it was comfortable, but it was still taking all of his attention not to tread on her toes. He stifled a laugh at the image of a fourteen-year-old Neville looking very flustered with the same redhead on his arm. It would seem that Ginny simply picked terrible dancing partners, and he said as much to her, provoking a cheerful laugh._

_ "I so badly wanted to be with you that night," she reminisced. "I watched your eyes follow Cho in those beautiful blue robes all night, and I wished for a split second that I were her."_

_ "I—" He didn't know quite what to say to that. An apology didn't feel appropriate. He was determined to start afresh in their relationship, which included doing as Ginny was constantly ordering him, and forgoing the automatic apologies to every comment she made. Perhaps it _was_ okay to not take the blame for everything to happen to everyone in his lifetime._

_ Ginny stood up on her tip toes, and gave him a firm kiss to swallow his half-formed sentence. "Those years taught me a lot about life," she said, brushing her hands across his shoulders fondly. "It made me want to outgrow that silly crush more than ever, just so that maybe _you_ would start looking at _me _that way._

_ "Of course, when I finally did begin to grow up, those desires became secondary, and I was finally me, in front of you and everyone else."_

_ Harry grinned, and bent his head down to nuzzle her nose with his own. "I'll always be grateful for that," he said. "I don't know what I'd do without the strong, confident, beautiful woman I married today."_

_ "I don't know what you'd do either, Potter. Luckily, you won't have to find out anytime soon."_

# # #

Harry awoke, panting. His dreams of late were becoming more and more vivid—he could count every freckle on Ginny's nose as they danced to Celestina Warbeck on the wireless, feel his heart pounding with the realization that he and Ginny were going to be together forever, that he wouldn't be alone anymore.

He staggered out of his bed, letting his feet rest on the hardwood floors for a few seconds before he lifted himself off of the bed and trudged to the kitchen to make himself his morning tea.

The last two days had been brutal. Hermione was still sullen, and he had no idea what was causing the transformation. She refused to let him try her mind for openings, claiming she still needed to revise before she felt comfortable. The excuse had seemed reasonable the first seven times she had used it, but now he was beginning to find it stale and overused. She was hiding something—and whatever that something was, she was afraid of him knowing of it.

Harry found her sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over a cup of tea. She didn't look up at him, but he could see the drying tears on her face.

"Hermione? Are you okay?"

She let out a sob at his question, and without thinking about it, he scooped her up and into his arms. Her nose nuzzled his collarbone, smearing moisture over the fabric of his shirt.

Rocking her gently, he smoothed out her bushy hair with his hand. It would be a number of years before she learned how to tame it, and another couple of years to have the desire to tame it.

"You can tell me anything, 'Mione and I'll understand," he said quietly. "You're my best friend."

"I miss home," she said weakly.

Harry didn't believe that was the real reason she was crying, but he nodded. "As soon as you let me test your mind, I can begin to ward your house."

"Tomorrow?" she asked, wiping her eyes. "After Moody leaves?"

He nodded. "That sounds fine."

# # #

"We're fucked," Tonks said. Her hair was a brilliant shade of pink, but it was flashing different colors at regular intervals, as though she couldn't decide what her mood should be. She was nervous; her combat boots tapped the floor with annoying frequency. Moody's magical eye trained on her foot until she caught his gaze and sheepishly ceased the motion.

"No, we aren't," Moody said. "Well, not yet at least."

Harry contemplated the situation for a moment, and then he spoke. "Was his invitation sincere?"

"Never trust an enemy," Moody growled.

"I'm not asking you if I should trust my enemy," Harry said, leaning back in his chair. "I'm asking you if Dumbledore _is_ my enemy."

"I just don't know. He hasn't told the Order much of anything, really, though Arthur is pushing for _some_ kind of action to be taken."

"He's got me and Dung doing double patrol," Tonks added, flashing Moody an annoyed look. "He was able to get a general location from following Hedwig, but once she was within the grounds, he couldn't be sure where you live, or what sorts of enchantments are protecting you."

"But he does know someone's helping you," Moody interjected. "Of course, he's wrong about how much they're helping. He still doesn't think you can do the wards yourself.

"Bill Weasley is a suspect."

Harry started. _Bill_ was being looked at for accessory to Ginny's kidnapping? "Dumbledore's lost it."

Moody shook his head.

"No one knows who to trust," Tonks said softly. "Bill's been in Egypt for such a long time that Dumbledore thinks it would be wise to look at him carefully… just in case there's more to Bill than meets the eye.

"Dumbledore's come to think that a _thirteen year _old couldn't possibly hide so thoroughly by himself…and he's right—no normal second year student could—so it's only logical that someone has to be helping you stay away. It does look bad," she said sheepishly. "You have to admit it does. Only someone who was really devious could sway someone with enough power to create those wards, and Dumbledore is afraid that this means you've gone past the point where we can reason with you.

"Bill is one of the only people—besides Moody and Dumbledore and Voldemort, who could ward some place so successfully that Dumbledore couldn't find it. Your wards are really good."

"Molly and Arthur don't believe it, as to what they _do_ believe…"

"Do they think I'm nutters?" Harry tried to make his voice light, but he could hear the tinge of vulnerability to it.

"Molly's with you one hundred percent," Tonks assured him. "Right when Ginny got home she was really upset—but now she's calmed down and talked with Ginny about everything…and she's with you every step of the way. Dumbledore's actually quite pissed about it. I think you might want to talk to her about joining this, er, organization."

Mad Eye shot her a warning glance. "Arthur is a little more hesitant."

"What is he planning if I do take him up on his offer?"

Moody rubbed his hand over the scars of his face roughly. "I can't tell you if this is a good option. You're the one who trained with Dumbledore personally—you tell me."

"I think he's run out of other options," Harry said finally, looking from Moody to Tonks to Hermione. "He wants to keep an eye on me, and he can't very well expel me from Hogwarts because Fudge wouldn't dare let him, so he's going to want to keep me around school for as long as he can—at least until the public doesn't love me so much."

"Fat chance of that ever happening," said Tonks, grinning.

"Well, there was the time when I was fifteen…" he broke off, laughing wryly.

"We're going back?" Hermione asked.

Harry nodded. "We have to. I'm too limited here to really do anything about Voldemort," he said, casting a sharp look at Tonks, who shuddered.

# # #

Cleaning up the residual affects from the flight from Hogwarts was no easy task. Harry hadn't slept in days, not since having to take Hermione back to her parent's house and make the trips to Diagon Alley to buy his school things. He'd sent Hermione back with her books and robes—having already confunded her parents with an enchanted letter, it was easier that they didn't remember having to send Hermione to school at all.

Hermione's mind was adequately protected from Legilimency. He didn't push her too hard because it was obvious she still had qualms about him entering her mind, but it was enough that she would know when Dumbledore was trying to fish for information.

He found himself spending more and more time down in the basement, watching Pettigrew squirm in his cage. The man was still recovering from the beating Harry had gifted, and alternated between sobbing hysterically into the grey set of robes Harry allowed him—mostly because he didn't want to see the man's portly body—and begging for Harry to have mercy and let him go.

"I couldn't sleep tonight, Peter," he said late one night. Moody would be coming over early to perform the Unbreakable Vow, but try as he might, Harry couldn't escape consciousness.

"I hear her screaming in my dreams, you know. My mum."

Wormtail whimpered.

Harry knelt by the cage, stooping low enough so that he could look Peter in the eyes. "I have waited my entire life to have you under my thumb this way because I wanted to hear you… explain your thinking. I wanted to know if you ever see their faces in your sleep. I want to know if you ever for one second felt uncertain or… guilty about killing them, betraying your friends."

"I-I-I n-n-n-never meant to hurt Lily and James!" Wormtail squeaked. "Your parents were my best friends!"

"Stop it!" Harry commanded harshly. "I don't want to hear your act! Your sycophantic drivel may work on Voldemort, but I can see right through it. I don't tolerate the bullshit, and I won't listen to you lie about how much you didn't have a choice in the matter. If you won't tell me the truth, I'll beat it out of you."

"Please don't!" _Now that's a real emotion,_ Harry thought. _His fear is the only genuine emotion he shows._

"I could break every bone in your body at will," Harry snarled. "I could use some of the world's most gruesome curses on you and there's nothing you could do about it, and nothing anyone else can do to stop it. Do you understand?"

Wormtail nodded weakly, pressing his face into the metal of the cage.

A sharp tap on the high cellar window interrupted Harry's tirade. His eyes flashed to the spot—wand at the ready to deal with any intruders, but it was only an owl tapping insistently at the glass. It was a tawny, but not beautiful. It screamed practicality—this owl had not been chosen for its looks or its personality, it had been chosen for speed and reliability. Instantly, Harry knew it bore a message from Moody.

He opened the window, and relieved the owl of its burden. It flew away.

_Evans,_

_ Fair warning: the package to be delivered tonight. The handling was shoddy, and it isn't in the best shape. Make the necessary preparations; expect me at a quarter to three._

_ --Professor_

"_Petrificus Totalus,"_ Harry whispered. Pettigrew stiffened on the bottom of the cage.

It was just after two when Harry finally walked up the stairs and into the rest of the house. He pulled linens from the closet and made the bed in one of the guest rooms with a flick of his wand. He gathered his potions kit and stationed it in the kitchen—it contained various salves and health potions, including a dose of Pepper Up. He was sure that Sirius would need that at the very least. Prolonged exposure to Dementors rendered chocolate less than useful, so Sirius would probably be weak for a few weeks yet.

He waited in the sitting room, curled up on one of the armchairs, his mind racing. Would Sirius believe what he had to say? Could he offer Sirius anything more than Dumbledore? After all, Sirius' existence would be restricted to this house, which wasn't much better than his confinement to Grimmauld Place when Harry was fifteen.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Who goes there?" he said through the wood.

"Moody," came the gruff reply. "Ask me the question."

"What did you buy me as a wedding present?" They had decided that was a fair category; no one knew about the time travel, so it wouldn't make any sense to an outsider.

"Nothing," Moody said. "I was unable to attend, seeing as I was dead."

Harry unlocked the door with a wave of his wand. Moody hobbled in; directing a floating Sirius Black with a levitating spell.

Once they were safely locked in the house, Harry enquired, "Why's he unconscious?"

Moody let Sirius' body fall onto a sofa, and dropped himself into an armchair, kneading the flesh of his thigh, just above the false leg. "Bastard didn't trust me. Thought I was trying to kill him. It was a bitch to get him to read the address. Groaning like a bloody idiot—almost alerted the other Aurors. I had to shove Shacklebolt into a holding cell as it is," he said wearily.

Harry nodded sympathetically. Kingsley was a great man, but flawlessly honest wasn't always a positive when you're in a war.

"I'll take care of Kingsley eventually, but unfortunately things will have to get worse before Dumbledore's most staunch supporters will go against him. I think King will have to see things with his own eyes."

"Well, he just annoyed the hell out of me, and will probably be pretty pissed once Tonks bails him out."

Harry turned his attention to the scraggly looking man on his couch. Sirius looked worse than the first time they'd met—at least the Sirius Harry had met when he was thirteen had managed to give himself a crude haircut so that his eyes were at least visible. However, this Sirius was a ball of matted black hair, sallow skin stretched over meatless bones, dressed in what looked like the bedding for Kreacher's room at Grimmauld Place. The robes he wore perhaps had once been gray, and had covered more of the prisoner's body, but they were damaged to the point that Sirius' pale legs were exposed, as were his arms, and a blackened undershirt and filthy looking pants.

He shivered slightly at the thought of his godfather's torment the last thirteen years. If he hadn't just spent the last few years without the love of his Ginny, Harry would've thought that he'd crack under the same treatment as Sirius. Now, he wasn't sure which fate was worse.

"I can tend to him, Mad-Eye," Harry said, raising his wand to levitate Sirius down the hall. "Pick a spare bedroom and get a couple of hours of sleep; there's tea in the kettle, too."

Moody nodded and took off down the hall, his heavy leg making a scraping sound against the hardwood floor.

Harry countered the Full-Body Bind. He wasn't sure what he expected upon lifting the spell, but he was heartbroken to find that even though Sirius' eyes were clearly showing his awareness, he let out no sound, and couldn't muster the strength to move a muscle.

"Sirius, this is Harry. We're at my home—you already know we're in Hogsmeade. I know you're exhausted, so just sleep now. I'll be back with a Pepper Up and some tea in a while." He turned to the door, but paused with his hand on the knob. You're safe now, Sirius."

Harry closed the door to the bedroom, resting his back against it. Now that he had Sirius, things were looking up again. He was going to play Dumbledore's little game for as long as it was convenient for him, he was going to make Ginny and Hermione and Ron safe and happy, and he was going to begin scouting for Horcruxes just as soon as winter break rolled around. That would give him time to work with Moody on his agility in dueling. Sure, he had the experience of a hardened Auror, but there was no way Harry was going to be able to stand up to a sixteen year old Tom Riddle.

Oh, Harry had things to do. It would begin tonight, with the Unbreakable Vow that would deprive Voldemort of his most idiotic servant. He had plans that would begin with the recuperation of Sirius Black. Harry would begin another year at Hogwarts, and hopefully, all of the blocks would fall into place.


	14. Mr Tinkertrain

_**One Month Later…**_

The car had evidently been upset on the tracks because there was a major slant in the floor. Harry stopped at the cries of a young student, who had probably been headed to the lavatory when the attack commenced, and was now clutching her ankle, face tearstained. His sure hands lifted her up, shielding her with his body by going down the corridor sideways.

"If it isn't the Boy Who Lived, here for the killing," said Mulciber from behind them. It was laughable that the executioner had though he was being sneaky in his pursuit; Harry knew the second the Death Eater had begun following him.

"I'm getting this girl outside for medical attention," he said calmly. "You would do well to stay out of my way until she's safe."

"It's touching, Potter, but I don' think you've got any idea just 'ow much of a mess yer in for." The man's skinny fingers were gripping his wand tightly. Obviously he had seen the mess Harry had made of Lucius Malfoy.

"This'll end in one of two ways. One, Voldemort walks away from this another tosser short, or two, you back away and maybe I'll save you a cell in Azkaban."

Mulciber looked beyond amused now. "Big talk for such a little man. I don't know how rusty Lucius must have been for you to have…" he paused, wincing at the thought of Malfoy speared onto the train wreckage, blasted there by Harry's now infamous Reductor Curse.

"Think what you will," Harry said, subtly shifting the girl to one hip so that if need be he could sling her over his shoulder. Many things were rushing through his adrenaline zapped mind—the most prominent being how stupid he was to have burdened himself with an injured kid when there were still targets running amok in the abandoned train. _I never would have made that mistake five years ago._

A nonverbal stunner hit him in the hip, dropping him like a rock. He was unconscious for an undetermined amount of time, only to be awakened by a mousy haired boy, who looked astonished.

Harry's first furious thoughts were that there was no way Mulciber had been the one to stun him, but that matter would have to be dealt with later.

"Neville?" Harry enquired. "What are you doing in the train? Haven't they evacuated?" He looked around for Mulciber, but the Death Eater was gone.

"I can't believe it! I really did it," said Neville, looking down at his wand with awe. "I mean, I read about it and all, and I pointed at you and said _ennervate, _but I wasn't expecting it to actually work!"

Harry sat up, wincing at both the ache in his head and the thought of a thirteen year old kid practicing healing spells on him.

"There was a girl here; do you know what happened to her?"

Neville helped Harry clamber to his feet, and the two began walking down the train to the nearest exit, which happened to be a gaping hole in the side. There were the background sounds of chaos around them, but there were no more shrieks of terror like there had been when the ambush had begun.

"A man with brown hair came when you were stunned and bound of the Death Eater you were fighting, and then he took her back off of the train. I was with Hermione; she'd come back to the train looking for you."

"Show me who it was when we see him," Harry instructed, eyebrow raised.

Neville shrugged, but pointed to a familiar man who, alongside Poppy Pomfrey, was tending the line of wounded, side by side in the wildly tall grass. The man was medium height, with medium brown hair, and scruffy looking clothes. Faint scars littered his face and neck, but his most crippling feature was the overwhelming sense of sadness pervading his form. The delicate movement of his wand indicated his conscious was riddled with guilt; dark bags invaded his eyes, and when those eyes rose from his patient to meet Harry's, there was an undeniable grief emanating from those dull brown orbs.

It was too much intensity for Harry, who as a teenager had been unable to conceive the depth of Remus' emotions, and he averted his eyes and instead surveyed the damage.

The train had been taken off of the tracks, and was lying at an odd angle against the hillside. On of the cars had broken away from the rest and was completely horizontal. It was charred like it had been the appetizer of a dragon's menu, and hadn't been in that condition when the battle had begun. Obviously Harry had been out for more than a bit of the action.

Neville's footsteps signaled his departure, and for that Harry was grateful. There were only two people he really needed to see: Hermione and Ginny.

His heart beat heavily, thinking on the seconds before the initial assault when he suddenly _knew_ something bad was about to happen, and he'd spoken to her in a hushed voice, passing the Invisibility Cloak to her so that she could hide.

# # #

_Do not take this off, no matter what happens._

She nodded somberly, eyes wide. He hated himself for making her so frightened, but he didn't have any time to comfort her. Hermione needed his instructions, and he had to make sure that Ron could properly pronounce the stunning and Disarming spells.

Of course, that was when the train stopped abruptly, and Lupin, who had been sleeping in the corner of their compartment, had woken. The older man had shushed them and walked to the glass door before Harry's warning rang out.

"Don't open it, not just yet."

Remus froze, undoubtedly wondering as to the intelligence in following a student's orders.

"There will be Dementors," Harry whispered, putting his arm around Ginny. "Look at the glass and tell me I'm lying."

Indeed, outside of the train's window was a dark mist which concealed the sky—that had been only a few hours ago simply overcast. Now it looked like the darkest of night.

Apparently Voldemort had been working quickly at having the Dementors on his side; they were rapidly descending onto the train. Shouts from startled students rang out—making Harry really want to shout, _Stop! Shut up!_

The lights flickered and then went out. The Invisibility Cloak had been frozen in Ginny's hands, but Harry took advantage of the dark to cover her with the velvety fabric, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. His pulse was jumping in fear—fear for Ginny, fear for Hermione, fear for Ron. The lights were back on not even a minute later, and Harry went to stand next to Lupin at the door, wand drawn.

"Where's Ginny?" asked Ron in a trembling voice.

"Don't think on it, Ron," answered Hermione, turning her gaze to Harry. "She's probably been to the loo."

"But he said there were Dementors out there!" Ron said. "How would you know there are Dementor's about?"

"That is an excellent question, Mr. Weasley," said Lupin smoothly. "I'm rather wondering that myself."

"There will be time for explanations later. Right now I have a feeling we're going to be vulnerable if we don't put some padding on that window." A cushioning charm aimed at the window made sure no one would get injured by slamming into the glass.

"Potter, I don't want to believe the things they say about you, but…" It looked physically painful for Lupin to say the words, but Harry's main goal would have to be that everyone made it out alive—whether or not they were happy.

"I can't do this right now, Professor. Perhaps we can take tea when the term begins, granted we're all alive and well at that point."

After that, the train echoed the screams. The Express had been knocked onto its side, probably with simultaneous Blasting Curses. Harry felt Ginny at his back, and fell onto her, jumping up within seconds for fear of crushing her petite form. He managed to keep her covered, though it really didn't make much of a difference at this point. There were no enemies (he'd made sure his stunt involving the cloak and the Slytherin compartment could not be copied with some subtle charms) in their tiny space.

"Hermione, keep in mind what I taught you this summer," he said shortly, getting to his knees.

The window had cracked into three large pieces, but everyone was safe; from that danger at least.

"That'll be Tom," Harry said abruptly. "He probably wants to try and kill me again. Would you care to accompany me out of the train, Professor?"

"If this is a trap…"

"I've got Lily's eyes and James' nobility, do you think I'm trying to deceive you?" he asked, wanting this Marauder's approval. Things with Sirius were shaky at best, but Harry knew of Remus' devotion to the Headmaster, who was currently pitting as many people as possible against the Boy Who Lived.

"Yes, no, I don't," Lupin said wearily. "I don't want to believe it, but the facts suggest otherwise…"

"You're intelligent, but never overconfident. I value that combination, but let me tell you that there are going to be decisions in your near future that cause you to question everything you once felt secure in. I hope you will examine the possibility that I'm only here to help."

"Help who?"

"You, Dumbledore, me…everyone. Shall we?"

The doorway was horizontal, but he just stepped through, using another broken window as a means to get outside. The countryside provided an even more frightening scene: Hogwarts students cowering, bombarded with the playful hexes from the Death Eaters. The Dark Lord's forces were thin, which puzzled Harry exceedingly. The Dementors surrounding the perimeter, swooping down from the dark sky had completely abandoned the Ministry and Azkaban in the month since Harry had rescued Sirius—and though the Ministry had not allowed the Prophet to cover it, Harry had been told by Moody of the mass breakout, which had occurred just the last week in August.

So why was Voldemort splitting his forces when he could wipe out not only Harry Potter but an entire generation of Britain?

He hadn't been spotted as of yet, so he pulled back, pushing Remus back into the dank corridor of the train.

"Dumbledore is on his way, right?" The only reply he received was a noncommittal jerk of Remus' head. "Send him a Patronus, tell him… tell him that the Death Eaters aren't here in numbers, and that you think it's a diversion."

"You think they're toying with us?"

Harry nodded. "He's here to make it look serious, but no doubt once Professor Dumbledore comes, he'll flee and get to his real destination. Probably not Hogwarts…but it could be Diagon Alley or even the Ministry. Mind who's here and who isn't. Are you acquainted with Bellatrix Lestrange?"

"Unfortunately."

"Then you know from the first war that she's not going to miss a chance to show off in front of Voldemort. She's definitely somewhere else with Rodolphus, Dolohov, the Carrows, and Yaxley. Who the hell is here now? From the looks of those two idiots over there," he pointed through the window to two large figures, covered with their masks. "We've got Crabbe and Goyle senior, and two others. Do you believe his goal is to kill all of us, or is that just what he wants us to think?"

Remus paled, but he seemed to put into perspective where he was and to whom he was speaking. "You're thirteen years old, Harry. I can't just recommend to the Headmaster that he abandon a horde of school children based on your logic!"

"I told you this was a distraction, but I didn't say they wouldn't hurt any of the students. It's my job to make sure the Head Boy over there doesn't get himself tortured," he said, looking to Percy the Head Boy, who was being a true Weasley and not giving the two Neanderthals any ground toward the shaking first year students. It was a smart tactic, Harry had to admit: the broken train had called forth the little ones like a stick beckons ants from the crumbly dirt.

"If you wait too long, people may suffer elsewhere."

He left that sentence hanging, and rushed out of the train, toward his enemy.

The grass beneath his trainers was light and springy, and the sky released brief tears, covering them all in a light fog. Unfortunately, the older classes had been congregating in the back cars, which meant that the only ones able to evacuate had been the young and Head students. It looked like the conductor and trolley lady were already dead; considered unnecessary baggage. Percy stood over the hunched crowd of students, wand at the ready. The Death Eaters seemed amused by his presence, which had probably saved him from being subjected to the Killing Curse immediately. Tom stood erect a little way away from his followers, who were moving to surround the group of students. He had a vicious look on his handsome face, and he knew Tom was waiting on him.

"Nice of you to join us, Potter," Tom said, once Harry was close enough that he wouldn't have to strain his silky voice.

"I'm not surprised you're here, Tommy. I am, however, curious as to how you're keeping the Dementors at bay. There must be a feast waiting; too much for them to resist."

Voldemort laughed, taking a subtle step forward. "They follow my instructions. I wouldn't want us to be distracted."

"Pray tell, why is our concentration so important?" Harry asked, risking a glance at the sky where the black cloaks were circling.

"I would prefer you to be lucid when I kill you."

"Are you here to kill me?" said Harry, "or are you just trying to lure Dumbledore here so you can attack the Ministry?"

"Interesting hypothesis," Tom sneered. "You should be working for me."

"Just because I'm better than your regular lackeys doesn't mean I'm stupid enough to take you up on any offer."

Tom, brow furrowed, took another step forward.

"Something I've said confuses you," Harry stated.

"You are not Dumbledore's boy," Tom said. His features were twitching, and Harry knew Tom didn't want to appear less than omniscient. "Yet you show no inclination to joining my forces."

"Well, there is that nasty issue of you having killed my parents, orphaning me," Harry replied dryly, keeping the distance between them equal by taking a step back every time Tom took a step forward. He was clenching his wand too firmly to be useful, and he reminded himself of his bum leg from a lifetime ago. That had been the result of him being so angry in the midst of the second Battle of Hogwarts (a reaction to the deaths of Tonks and Lupin) that he couldn't even see Peter Pettigrew coming. Of course, Ron paid the price for that one—ending up with a nasty curse and Pettigrew's death on his hands.

"You fight like you know the Dark Arts," Voldemort commented, finally breaking the impasse and shooting a Severing Hex, which Harry promptly dodged. The flash of light kept moving, eventually hitting the torso of a young boy who was at the edge of the crowd of children.

Harry's heart clenched, but he kept his face neutral. "No," he contradicted. "I fight like a man who knows sorrow."

He sent a warning hex at Voldemort—one that was so simple first years in the other timeline were using it, but hadn't been invented until the late nineties. The spell was mostly used in mock duels, giving the person a vague burn, but outlining the rest of the body part in silver light.

Light encompassed Voldemort's torso, eliciting a gasp from the Death Eaters watching them.

"It's going to be so satisfying to kill you. _Avada Kedavra!"_

Harry was expecting this move, and sidestepped the green light. He had long since lost his fear of the spell—it didn't hold the same power it used to. "You're losing your touch, mate. You need some more practice, this," he sent a Stinging Hex to Voldemort's throat, which the Dark Lord was unable to block in its haste, "is the proper way to throw off an opponent."

"You can't win this duel by sending childish magic my way, Potter," Voldemort spat. "I know of magic you could not even imagine." Tom swallowed heavily.

"There are things you don't know about _me_," Harry warned. "And ignorance will get you killed."

Riddle gnashed his teeth. "Lord Voldemort is all-know—"

"_Langlock," _Harry said in a low voice. He caught Riddle off guard in his rage, and the effect was a series of groans and muffled protests from his opponent. "What's that, Tommy? Kneazle got your tongue? Fuck _off," _he shouted, flicking his wand and binding both Crabbe and Goyle in thick ropes.

"I suggest you Disapparate before he realizes you're useless and he kills you himself. It's already in the cards for the giants over there."

"My orders were to let the Dark Lord handle you," said a silky voice from behind the mask of the third Death Eater. The fourth had bounded off toward the train, no doubt looking for more interesting prey. "However, you've made yourself simply to obnoxious. I think your death is in order."

Harry smiled. "Lucius Malfoy, how nice it is to make your acquaintance! I believe you're familiar with my good friends the Weasleys?"

"Filth," he said contemptuously. By this time Voldemort had recovered, and he was looking positively murderous.

"Well, they did have a rodent problem this summer," Harry allowed. "But I was able to eliminate the infestation."

"I don't think you realize just how much trouble you're in," Tom said.

The odds were not in his favor now, and he began wondering if it wouldn't be better to set an example for Tom and the rest of the Death Squad. He stole a glance at the conductor's car, with its twisted metal. He guessed it must have taken some initial impact; taking the brunt of a combined curse.

He moved his hand up slowly, relaxing his fingers around the wand. In one quick movement he had blasted Malfoy across the field and into the train. It made a wretched noise, further denting the metal. Malfoy, dead on impact, hung there for a moment before sliding down and landing in a heap on the tracks.

"Just one more topic which we will discuss when we make it back to Hogwarts, Mr. Potter," said a voice from behind them. Tom's face whitened.

"You're looking well, Tom," Albus Dumbledore said politely. "Of course I had hoped our next meeting would be under different circumstances.

"And thank you, Harry, for getting that message to me. The other mess has been all cleared up."

"Lucky you, Potter, that the old fool's come to your rescue. Next time you will not be so lucky." With a soft crack, he was gone.

The aging Headmaster surveyed the damage to the Hogwarts express with tired eyes. "The Order of the Phoenix is an organization I have reinstated to fight against Lord Voldemort. They will be here shortly to set up Portkeys for the students. I must be on my way, but I trust you will be able to aid with the evacuation?"

Harry nodded.

"I will see you in my office when all is settled and you are back at school." The look on Dumbledore's face was disconcerting, and Harry felt a bubble of anxiety erupt in his chest.

Dumbledore Disapparated, leaving Harry to screaming first years and a white faced Percy, staring at him in accusation. He walked unsteadily back to the train to find his Ginny, hoping against hope that the other cloaked man hadn't gotten to her and the rest of his family. He stepped in through the broken window and set off down the corridor.

# # #

**A/N: **

**This has been in the works for a long time, and I'm really sorry about the wait. Thank you, Alia Ziaen, who's a real beast at helping me work out the kinks.**

**Nos—this would be easier if you had an account, but I don't remember referring to Hermione as pregnant at all. I do admit to continuity errors, but the only woman pregnant so far has been Fleur, who was obviously seriously dating Bill before he died at the end of Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts. I could be wrong, and if I am I'll reupload that chapter with the correction. Thanks.**


	15. I'm Gonna Get There

**A/N: **Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, pg 217, American Edition.**

# # #

"Are you alright, love?" Harry asked in a low voice, cutting the leg of her jeans up to the knee with his wand. Her skin was unblemished up until the knee, where she had taken a nasty fall during the final evacuation. Thankfully she had taken the Invisibility Cloak off by that time, so she didn't have to explain to Ron how she was materializing out of midair.

He conjured a handkerchief and gingerly blotted the blood away, the way he used to when she came home from a particularly rough Quidditch game.

"I'm fine," she said in the same tone, smiling briefly.

"I can take it from here, Potter. I'd appreciate it if you didn't associate with my sister," Percy cut in, catching Harry off guard.

Ginny's eyes blazed. "I can decide with whom I'll associate, Percival," she said coldly. "Harry is the reason any of us made it out of that alive."

"You weren't there."

"_You_ weren't there," she argued, "when Harry convinced Professor Lupin to contact Professor Dumbledore and tell him that there was danger elsewhere."

Percy sniffed. "Well, I was there when _he_," he pointed to Harry who was untying Ginny's trainer so that he could inspect a swollen ankle. "murdered Lucius Malfoy. Who, by the way, is a school governor, and may have been working undercover to _help _us."

Harry was fuming, but any response he could have formulated was cut off by Ginny's cry of outrage.

"You're mad! Lucius Malfoy hated anyone who wasn't Pureblood, and he hated us because we _don't_ hate anyone on the basis of blood status."

"I won't say he was a charming human being, but there are schools of thought… but perhaps you are too young to fully understand. Either way, you're coming with me to see Madam Pomfrey. Then we are taking a portkey together."

He reached his hand forward to take hold of Ginny's arm, but was met with Harry's wand pointed in his face. "Touch her and you lose the feeling in your legs," he ground out. "Permanently."

The twins and Ron had apparently noticed the little scene playing out, and had at some point gathered around them. Fred whispered something to George, who lost his ready smile and watched Harry intently.

"That'll be a detention, Potter, with Filch, the first night after classes," Percy said sternly, though it escaped no one's notice that he had stopped trying for Ginny's arm.

"We aren't at Hogwarts yet," Harry said. "And you can take that Head Boy badge and shove it up your arse."

Fred and George burst out into laughter, but Ron watched Harry warily. Harry's attention was already drawn away from a constipated looking Percy, and was now waving his wand in a gentle pattern over Ginny's ankle. The flesh glowed blue after a diagnostic spell, announcing a mild sprain. He could mend it, but it would still be weak, so he conjured up a crutch, which he presented Ginny with.

"You'll have to walk around on this for at least until tomorrow. It may still hurt a bit."

A shadow fell upon them, alongside the voice of Nymphadora Tonks. "Oi, all you Weasley boys, take this portkey," she commanded, holding up an empty tube of toothpaste. Ron and the twins held out their fingers obediently, but Percy took a step backwards.

"I'm not going anywhere without my sister," he said stubbornly. "She can leave with all of us."

Tonks shook her head. "You all go on this one, and I'll send her along with the other injured." She winked at Harry discreetly.

Percy threw Harry a mutinous look, but took hold of the portkey in time for all four Weasley boys to disappear from the countryside. Harry turned back to Tonks with a grateful smile. "I'll Apparate us out of here in a second."

She nodded. "No problem, boss." For show, she handed him a mangy looking hat—one Petunia might have thought stylish—with an artificial rosebud on the front and faux velvet around the sides.

"Hold onto the hat with your right hand, and onto my hand with your left," he instructed. No one was really paying them much attention anymore, so no one heard the faint crack of Apparition.

The village, with its sweet houses and many shops, looked as it always had. There was no sign of spell damage or distress from any of the people shuffling around from one storefront to the other. Harry righted Ginny on her crutch, and then set off down the cobbled road at a steady pace, her hobbling along beside him.

"Tell me about Malfoy," she said.

He hesitated, but didn't try to dissuade her. "He and Voldemort were closing in on me, so I took a chance and sent him flying into the train. He hit his head hard enough that he died."

"Have you killed many people?" Her voice was strangely calm.

He nodded slowly, before answering in the affirmative.

"I don't want you to think I'm afraid of you, or anything," she said, a blazing look in her dark eyes. "You've always been my hero."

They were nearing the gates, and he didn't want to continue their discussion where any of Dumbledore's spells could overhear them, so he paused. "If everyone is going to be safe from Voldemort, there are some things I have to do very soon. I don't want you to think that I've forgotten you."

She smiled. "Sometimes I think of you as my Ready-Made Husband. It's a really weird situation we've got going on."

Laughing, he replied, "I'm sorry if sometimes I come off as… well, too intense, but I've come to realize… I wasn't prepared for a lot of things that are happening."

"We are friends, aren't we Harry?"

He stuck out his hand for her to shake, and she accepted—but it was an awkward handshake, as she was still supporting herself on the crutch.

They walked back to the castle, laughing.

# # #

"With all due respect, Professor, that's none of your concern," he said calmly.

Dumbledore, in an uncharacteristic move, slammed his hand on the desk. "_None of my concern?_ You murdered a man in front of thirty students! I cannot possibly describe to you the severity of the circumstances."

Quickly losing his patience, Harry rolled his eyes. "It was self-defense and Percy Weasley, Professor Lupin, and I hope, _you_ know that. Hell, even Voldemort knows it! Lucius had me cornered!"

"No child should be able to perform such magic."

Harry shrugged. "It's in Spell books available to anyone at Flourish and Blotts."

"No," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "No, it was the power described to me. No child should be able to send a grown man flying to his death. It makes me very curious…"

Harry didn't need to be a Legilimens to know that Dumbledore was wondering if Harry would be capable of the three Unforgivable curses. The answer was yes, though he hadn't been able to perform them before all of the Weasley's were murdered.

He remembered Barty Crouch Jr. years ago, telling a fourth year class about the Unforgivable Curses. "_Avada Kedavra's a curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it—you could all get your wands out now and point them at me and say the words, and I doubt I'd get so much as a nosebleed."**_

The Headmaster was staring at Harry intently, but he was relieved to find that there was no pressure being exerted on his mind. His motives were, at least for the time being, his own.

"There is something about you, Mr. Potter, which tells me that I can speak frankly and you will understand and analyze everything to perfection. I am in a position which does not grant me much leeway from the general public and certain Ministry officials to punish you. The Minister himself has taken it upon himself to visit me since the news of Mr. Malfoy's death has come to light, and he explained to me that there would be no charges brought against you.

"Be that as it may, I would like you to know that Ministry or not, if you put another toe out of line this term you will find yourself out of Hogwarts before you can worm your way out of trouble. Do we understand each other?"

Harry's face was a polite mask. "Of course, sir. We understand each other perfectly."

He stood to leave the office, but stopped dead in his tracks at the sorrow in Dumbledore's voice.

"It seems each time we speak I warn you of the decisions you make, which could lead down disastrous paths, but now I am thinking that perhaps all I have done is waste precious breath."

"Our goals are the same, Headmaster. Our paths, however, are going to be dissimilar because of the simple fact that I am me and you are you. In my anger I made mistakes, that I'm afraid will mean our relationship continues in its current direction. You will never know the extent of my remorse for that."

He left the room with a new sense of purpose. There were a great many things to be done; the example of what might happen should he postpone these things was sitting behind the desk, watching him leave with sad blue eyes.

# # #

"Honey, I'm home!" he called, grinning at the annoyed look on Sirius' face as he entered the kitchen. "How're you doing?"

"Fucking peachy," Sirius replied with a scowl. "Other than the fact that I'm bored as hell stuck in this house twenty-four seven. At least the Dementors were company."

"And charming company they are," Harry said dryly. He went to the fridge and took out a butterbeer, chuckling at the suspicious look Sirius threw at the 'contraption.'

"Your mum had one of those, used to drive your dad mad."

Things with Sirius hadn't been exactly good because Sirius had just come out of a twelve year stint in Azkaban and was paranoid as hell. Well, Harry could admit that the whole time travel theory was pretty hard to believe, but he hadn't been expecting Sirius to reenact his reaction to Peter Pettigrew's faked death—_laughing._

"Let's cut to the chase," Harry said, sitting down at the table and taking a long swig of the butterbeer. "I need some advice, and despite our rough start, I trust you more than anyone."

"I talked to Moody while you were getting to Hogwarts," Sirius said. "And he broke things down for me, and I believe you."

"You believe me _now?_" he asked incredulously.

"Hey!" Sirius said, holding up his hands. "Your explanation was shit. I just wake up from basically sleeping for twelve years, to find Alastor Moody, the greatest Auror of all time, and my twelve year old godson, who tell me that Voldemort is back, that you've created an organization which is independent of not only him but _Dumbledore_, not to mention the fact that the twelve year old is the one calling the shots! Then, you come out with this crazy story that you're from the _future_ and I'm not supposed to doubt your sanity as well as my own?"

They both laughed heartily at the absurdity of the situation.

"So the advice," Sirius prompted. "What did you want to ask me?"

"Well," Harry said, taking a gulp of butterbeer. "I need to make some more headway recruiting members from the Order if I want to keep everything separate from Dumbledore. I was so pissed off about Dumbledore treating every one like fucking _pawns_ in his twisted game of chess, that when I was first back I was a bit of a prick to him. I wonder if mending fences wouldn't be the best way to go."

Sirius thought for a moment before speaking. "I'll tell you what your father would say. He worshipped Dumbledore—he'd say that Dumbledore's not the most renowned wizard of our age for no reason, and that you did wrong by defying him. He'd say you should get back to that office and tell him you're sorry and swear on your honor to do better in the future."

"So you're saying I should patch things up? Tell him I'm from the future?"

Sirius scowled. "Fuck no! I said your dear old dad would have told you to do that. But you were just spewing that shit about a chess game, and I think that if you know Dumbledore likes to manipulate shit and you believe he'll do more harm than good—purposefully or accidentally—then you'd do better to make sure you're the one who has the cards. Moody told me about as much of the story as he knows, and it sounds to me like you were a victim of ignorance—you didn't know any better at any time, and you could've done everything a lot sooner, had you known whose lives were on the line."

"That's what I'll do," Harry said. "I guess I'm not much like my dad."

"Are you kidding!" Sirius said softly. "Who are you doing this for?"

Harry didn't answer.

"James would've jumped through alternate dimensions for Lily, just like you."

Harry coughed, and both men (well, one man and one man in a boy's body) looked away awkwardly.

"I'm also here to tell you that I killed Lucius Malfoy today," he said solemnly. "I was fighting Voldemort and he tried to double team me, and so I killed him."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"So, my plans are really going to escalate in the next few months—from this year on things are going to get… intense."

"Where do I come in?" Sirius asked, completely on point.

Harry played with the rim of his bottle. "It's not going to be very safe for you outside of the house. Voldemort wants you dead, and the Ministry wants you locked up. But as Snuffles, there are certain reconnaissance missions you could handle."

"For example…?"

"Death Eater activity: who's working where, what places are being patrolled, et cetera. I want to know what places he's trying to take and how soon. The Ministry is probably weakening by the second, and I'm sure Fudge or another official will be knocking on my door in a few days—as soon as the attack on the Express gets out—to reassure the public. I can't count on Dumbledore to protect me, especially not after the memoir…"

"You know what you're doing."

Harry shrugged. "I spent the last year or so of my life with nothing to do but work."

Nodding, Sirius said, "We'll make sure it doesn't happen again."

# # #

_"What's wrong, Harry?"_

_His shoulders slumped a little further, but he couldn't hide the chill that wracked his body as her tiny hands kneaded his shoulders. It felt natural to be in such close contact, something years as an orphan had deprived him of._

_"Your brother hates me," he said. "I asked him to play chess today and he just turned his head and pretended to be talking to Seamus—about _football._"_

_Ginny giggled, slightly lightening his mood. "No, he doesn't. He just can't reconcile his perception of you with the way he usually treats my boyfriends. He will come around. I promise."_

_"What if he doesn't?"_

_She took his hand from his lap and entwined their fingers. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but either way he's going to be upset with you. He'd be upset if you were ended things with me, and he'd be upset if you didn't. You'll just have to ride out this storm."_

_"I really want to give this a shot, Gin. I don't know where I'll be after next year, or if I'll even be alive, but I…"_

_"We don't have to talk about it," she said quietly. "I'd actually prefer it if we didn't. There'll be times when we absolutely have to talk about it, and we'll wonder why we wasted our breath tonight, when we had other, more important things to think about."_

_"I feel normal," he chuckled._

_"What?"  
_

_"Worrying about my girlfriend's brother hating me, trying to schedule some time to see her in between her O.W.L. studying, hanging out in the Astronomy tower late at night; I almost feel normal."_

_"With the exception of the Invisibility Cloak that let us get up here in the first place," she prodded him with her elbow, accepting his kiss gratefully. "I'll do what I can with Ron."_

_He grinned. "Speaking of your brothers, should I expect a package of 'gifts' from Fred and George?"_

_"Oh, they wouldn't do that," she said with a sly grin. "Unless I asked them really nicely."_

_He laughed. "I think you're the only Weasley I should be afraid of."_

_"Don't forget mum, she's a fright when she's angry."_

_# # #_


	16. Blue Sky

Potions was the first class of the new term, and Harry, who had been out late with Sirius, was abnormally grouchy. Hermione cast him an annoyed look as he stirred counterclockwise instead of clockwise, as if to say, _Aren't you supposed to be good at this?_ He was pretty sure she wasn't going to partner with him again. Everyone in Gryffindor tower had been asleep by the time he made it back to school, so he still had that hanging over his head, along with the news that the student hit with Voldemort's cutting curse hadn't survived. The student was Howard, the man who had helped send Harry back in time.

Needless to say, Harry hadn't been in the mood to deal with Snape, who seemed to take it upon himself to be as rude to Harry as possible, perhaps in punishment for the way he had spoken to Dumbledore last night. Harry might know Snape wasn't a murdering bastard, but that didn't mean he liked the greasy git. Hermione had managed to save the potion, but Snape gave Harry a zero anyway.

"Some of us in this class actually _aided_ our partners. You are constantly a hindrance."

It took all his energy not to snap back, "_Look, fuckface, you don't know who the hell you're messing with!"_

Instead, he swallowed his anger and helped Hermione pack away the cauldron. He made a pile of her books and his, setting a levitation spell on them so that they followed behind them.

"Oy, look Weasley, he's stealing your girlfriend!" Seamus roared with laughter.

Ron stood there, ears bright red.

Harry opened his mouth to say something—what he would have said, in his current mood, he had no idea, but Hermione cut him off by taking his arm and dragging him out of the classroom.

"So…childish…just…" she muttered. "Can't even be nice without…childish!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I wish I were thirteen again; that stuff never sounded as idiotic as it does now."

He flicked his wand at the books and they shot off down the hall ahead of them. "I sent on to Transfiguration; I'll meet you there." She looked curious, but shrugged and continued on her way.

Ron, Seamus, and Dean were ambling down the corridor by now, and Harry signaled to Ron so that he broke off from Seamus and Dean, who were talking animatedly about the first Hogsmeade trip next month. They didn't even notice Ron had stopped walking with them.

"Could I have a word?"

Ron shrugged his shoulders. They were a few minutes behind everyone else, and would probably be late for Transfiguration; well, it wouldn't be the first time.

"So… are you and Hermione like a thing, now?"

"What? No! We're only friends. To be honest…" he purposefully trailed off.

Ron prodded him in the arm. "To be honest, what?"

"I think she fancies _you_," he said conspiratorially.

"Yeah?" Ron's ears darkened even further.

"We have some things to discuss," Harry said. "Privately."

Ron's brow wrinkled, but he nodded. "Is this about where you and Hermione went this summer? With Ginny? Is this about the Chamber of Secrets?"

When he answered, Harry spoke in a low voice. "Not entirely. This is about me. There are things you need to know, and it's finally time for me to tell you."

"When?" he asked.

"Tomorrow night, after the Quidditch game. There's a place we can meet that is completely private. Hermione will come along."

"You're scaring me, Harry," he said lightly, but his face was deadly serious.

# # #

Gryffindor, at the end of Harry's first year, was beaten by Ravenclaw. Second year, Harry's disappearance with two other students and Voldemort's return were enough to cancel any further games.

This year, Harry wanted to win.

If not for himself, for the hollow look in Wood's eyes, and the glum expressions of Fred and George, who, for the most part, had been completely genial since term began. In the other timeline, it had been like moving an unwilling Hippogriff getting the Order members to recognize and accept the Weasley brothers as a part of their ranks. But the boys had good instinct, and were braver than most.

He circled the stadium, watching as a figure in the darkness, who he assumed was Angelina, scored the first goal for Gryffindor. Cedric Diggory was zooming back and forth a few feet below him—but this was where Harry felt most comfortable, overlooking the entire stadium.

There were no more Dementors under Ministry control, so there was one thing Harry didn't have to worry about. Draco had gone through with Flint's plan to derail the Slytherin/Gryffindor match, so all the Slytherin boys were sitting in student boxes, heckling.

He flew down to the goalposts, watching as Oliver defended against a skilled throw by the Hufflepuff Chasers.

Rain pelted them all, stinging in its ferocity. He'd fixed his glasses before hand, but the swirling mist of the air around him made it almost impossible to see clearly. Thunder crashed above their heads, and Hooch's whistle signaled their time out.

"I can't see a bloody thing out there!" Wood bellowed. "What's the score?"

"Thirty-Ten, Hufflepuff," Angelina answered glumly. "This is the exact opposite of what we've trained for."

"You've got to get the snitch, Harry," Wood said, sending him a desperate look. "End this in the next half hour."

"Sooner, if you can," George cut in. "I'm freezing my bollocks off out there."

"Keep your mind off your bollocks and on those bludgers—the Chasers have to be out of commission too," Oliver snapped. "Back in the air!" He nodded to Madam Hooch, who was standing on the wet turf looking ruffled, like a wet eagle, and kicked off.

Game play resumed, and Harry was left to fly up and down the field, searching the grey sky for a glint of gold. Diggory seemed to have the same thought, and was speeding, closer to the Hufflepuff goalposts. But suddenly it didn't look like wandering anymore; Diggory definitely had a purpose—he was flying straight toward the left goal, flattening his body onto the broom as to go faster.

"He's seen the snitch! Diggory's seen the snitch!" Obviously Lee Jordan realized what Harry hadn't seen in the first place.

Before a thought had even fully formed in his head, Harry had shot off on Cedric's tail. He was a little further than midfield, but he had the Firebolt, which made Cedric's Comet Two-Sixty seem like an antique in comparison. Harry was pushing it, he knew, but he was so close, just as the Hufflepuff seeker reached his hand out for the catch…

"Harry!"

A shriek cut, reminiscent of Walburga Black, cut through the cheering crowd. Harry immediately stilled his broom to listen, ceasing all thoughts of the snitch. He knew who was calling him, and why. There was trouble.

_"Sonorus," he said. "Learn it."_

_ She held her bushy hair up in a bun at the top of her head, but she brushed back an imaginary strand in annoyance. "Give me a second to learn the last spell, please."_

_ "No," he shook his head. "This is the most important thing I will teach you before you leave. Sure, you can Stun, you can trip, and you can Disarm. But it'll be years before you can study as much as I have. When in doubt, use this spell to call me, wherever I am, and whatever I'm doing. Especially at school."_

_ "Sonorus," she repeated, holding her wand up to the base of her throat._

"It's them! They're here!" Hermione's voice sounded harried and panicked.

"Oy, you got your wand, Diggory?" he shouted over the rain, which appeared to have picked the worst time possible to intensify.

"What's going on?" Cedric asked, holding up the snitch in his hand. "Let's get back to the castle."

Harry flew closer, balancing himself on the broom. "Voldemort and some Death Eaters are here; do you have your wand?"

He nodded, pulling it loose from his robes' pocket. "I keep it with me."

"Friends, do you have any that you trust in a fight?"

"My team is alright in Defense, I suppose, and my girlfriend's good, really good."

"Chang? Would she have her wand?" His eyes flew around the sky, almost positive the attack would begin in the air.

Cedric nodded.

"Fly down to her in the stands, get her wand, and summon her broom. Wrangle anyone else and we meet up by the Commentator's Box in five minutes. They're going to play with the crowd for a bit, to attract attention."

The Hufflepuff's face whitened and Harry knew he understood the severity of the situation. Lives could, and probably would, be lost today. Students who were in class yesterday wouldn't be on Monday.

They took off, Harry to the Gryffindor stands, and Cedric toward the Ravenclaw.

Harry heard another scream, and narrowed his eyes at the teacher's box, where six figures on brooms were surrounding. McGonagall and Flitwick headed the group, sitting at the very front, while the others hung back--Remus speaking in a hushed voice to Snape, who looked more fearful than Harry had ever seen him. He wished he could send Snape a signal, tell him to get himself out without blowing his already shaky cover--Tom Riddle had allowed Severus the opportunity to continue his work as a spy at Hogwarts. Harry was sure Voldemort knew already, but was just biding his time. Either way, Snape knew what the risks were; he was still willing to risk his neck for Dumbledore.

"It's Potter, my Lord!"

Voldemort's words were lost in the wind as Harry directed the broom handle to the left, heading toward the Gryffindor stands. The bodies of tiny first years were huddled at the stairway, the older students standing, some with wands and some with fists, in front to protect them.

Hermione, Ron, and Ginny (he assumed it was Ginny; her hair and face were hidden beneath a hood and scarf.

"Get on," he ordered, motioning to Hermione, who clambered up onto the broom, wand out and at the ready. Her facial expression was overtly bland, but she was trembling between his thighs.

"Stun any Death Eater you see," he whispered in her ear. "Don't worry about anything but picking them out of the sky."

He flew back into the air and watched as ten other broom-riding students rose up alongside him. Cedric was directly to his right, Cho directly to his left.

The rain began to lighten, and Harry didn't have to constantly blink water from his eyes.

"Where's Dumbledore?" Hermione whispered, scanning the area for the aged professor. He wasn't with the rest of the teachers—who were now exchanging curses with the Death Eaters. Tom Riddle sat comfortably on his broom, so unlike the stiff, snake-like body of his former life—he was a fit, youthful man, until you looked into his red eyes.

In those eyes, his madness and experience were brazenly on display.

"Hiding behind a Mudblood, eh, Potter? I'd think you'd have more pride than that," Riddle sneered.

"I can handle him, my Lord," sniveled the same Death Eater as before, a lanky body hidden behind dark robes. The man flew out in front of Voldemort and attempted to send the Killing Curse at Harry. Harry went with his gut feeling—the man had the appearance of a big puppy, silly, with too-long limbs—and turned the broom sideways, so that the green light hit his hip. He guessed correctly; the bolt of light burned him through the robes, and he felt a trickle of blood run down his side, but other than that he was unharmed.

Harry sent Tom an amused look. "Imperius curse? Or are you just that desperate?" He chuckled, but nonetheless Stunned the Death Eater, levitating him to the nearest stands.

"Mr. Diggory, Mr. Potter, Miss Chang, Miss Granger—come down immediately!" Apparently McGonagall had evacuated the rest of the students.

"What do you want, Tom? I hope you know you just cost me a Quidditch match," Harry said.

"_Stupefy!" _yelled someone to his right. He felt his eyes close at their stupidity. The Stunning spell had hit Voldemort, only to have no effect whatsoever. No Stunning spell cast by a sixth year was going to take out Tom Riddle. No one at Hogwarts, save Harry, had the power.

All hell broke loose. The Death Eaters were released from their invisible leashes, and wasted no time in sending a volley of spells—some startlingly lethal—in the direction of Harry and his companions.

Cho and Cedric flew back to back, throwing Disarming Spells as quickly as they could. He wanted to yell at them to _change it up!_ but he didn't want to risk diverting his attention away from Tom's wild gaze.

"You can't think this is going to end well," Harry murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "Dumbledore's supposed to be watching the game…"

The light bulb went off in Harry's head just as the imposter's wand pointed at Harry. "Crucio!"

Harry dodged, watching in slow motion as the curse whisked past the handle of the broom—Hermione shrinking into his stomach—and hitting Cho Chang, her hand poised to throw a Stunning spell. She shrieked her agony, face crumpling under the intense pain, her hands relinquishing their hold of the broom. She fell, fell, fell, landing on the soaked, damp turf, which was not enough to stop the crushing of her internal organs.

She was dead. Undeniably, irrevocably dead.

An inhumane sound erupted from the chest of Cedric, who was hovering in the now deep, dark blue sky.

Harry turned back to the fake Voldemort. "Who are you?" he enquired.

# # #


	17. Killing Me Softly

"It was completely irresponsible," McGonagall spat. "Mr. Potter, I haven't agreed with many of your exploits since you came to school, but I was always willing to believe you had the best interests of yourself, your classmates, and your school at heart.

_Harry raised his wand arm, but lowered his head so that his lips were level with Hermione's ear. "Tuck your head in between your knees."_

_When she had complied, he threw a Stinging Hex at the Imposter's shoulder. Tom snarled at the intrusion, but had yet to retaliate before Harry flew straight at his opponent's body, knocking him from his broom._

"To put the lives of your friends in danger to attain glory!" she had a wild look in her aging eyes. "It was the most disgusting spectacle I've ever had the misfortune to witness. Your actions today caused the death of an innocent girl."

_Cedric's screams echoed through the stagnant air, reaching the solemn, horrorstruck faces and churning Harry's stomach with white hot guilt. Cho's agile body was cradled in Cedric's strong arms._

"Have you any idea just how much trouble you've brought upon yourself?"

_The body crunched onto the ground. Hermione buried her face in his shoulder, sobbing. "What's going on, Harry?"_

_"It's a test, to see how on my guard I am. I assume he's out there right now, watching," he said in an emotionless voice._

"You should be expelled immediately, for such brazen stupidity," McGonagall said. "Unfortunately—"

"Unfortunately there are other matters to attend to," interjected a smooth voice from the doorway. "I believe the Headmaster is requiring of you counsel, Minerva. If I may have a private word with Mr. Potter?"

"Severus?" McGonagall looked up, eyes narrowed even further.

Snape ignored the Deputy Headmistress. "Come with me, Potter. I'll be showing you to the detentions you so richly deserve."

Harry followed him out of McGonagall's office, wiping the heel of his hand across his brow.

Snape was silent until they reached the dungeons. "How did you know it wasn't him?"

"Professor?"

"Cut the shit," Snape snapped. "I know you had a thought process, no matter how hard it is to believe, and I want to know how you knew."

"I wondered why we were still alive," Harry said frankly. He nodded when Snape used his wand to open the door to his office, and stepped inside, taking a seat at the straight backed chair across from Snape's desk.

"Meaning, what?"

"Meaning I fucked up really well, and if Voldemort had been there, a lot more people than Chang would have died."

Snape thought for a second, then, "Do you think this was a test for me, or you?"

_Harry's eyes were drawn against their will to the corpse on the ground. It was the illusion of something Harry knew to be impossible—a dead, lonely Tom Riddle—but it solidified Harry's goal. He waited a few more minutes, ignoring the shouts for his return to land, while the corpse slowly reverted back to its true form._

"Who knows, both of us? All of the Death Eaters caught today will be forcibly released tomorrow so he'll know you weren't participating… he may have meant for that to be your 'coming out', if you will. Since you didn't…well, I wouldn't respond to the call when next it comes.

"As for me, well, I think he wanted to know send a message saying he can strike at any moment, at any place, even Hogwarts. And in light of exactly _who_ he had under the Imperius, well, I imagine he wanted to tell Dumbledore that he can have the Ministry in a second."

Snape smirked. "And there's also the nasty little problem of you having killed the Minister for Magic."

"That too," Harry replied wearily. "I assume there will be a hearing sometime soon, to determine how at fault I am."

"He can't figure you out," Snape said. "Albus, I mean. He can't figure out what your motives are and it aggravates him. And because of this, he will never stop being a thorn in your side."

"Whom I trust with this secret," Harry said coldly. "is my prerogative. When I can insure that Dumbledore won't be more of a danger in the know, I'll change his status. As for now…"

"I don't know what went on in your other life, Potter," Snape said, sallow features pulling into a grimace. "But it seems to me that you're punishing him for deeds not done in this timeline. Remember—having the capacity to make wrong choices is not the same thing as actually committing those sins. Perhaps with guidance, you will have yet another ally."

Harry smiled grimly. "If my father were miraculously alive, and he were to act exactly the same as when you were children, would you befriend him?"

Snape's face froze.

"That's what I thought," Harry said, rising from his seat and slinking off back toward the narrow, stone halls of the dungeons.

# # #

What is the cost of a life? If, by some miracle, one was able to find that monetary or emotional cost, could you multiply it—by two, three, four?

If Harry Potter were responsible for two deaths—one innocent girl with creamy skin and a penchant for Quidditch, and two, Cornelius Fudge, the highest ranking Ministry official—what punishment would be the equivalent of those two lives?

Cleaning fifteen hundred bedpans—three hundred soiled, the other twelve hundred simply dusty—or fifteen years in prison. That's five thousand, four hundred, and seventy-five days of solitary confinement. How painful should the inevitable punishment be? Ten thousand lines with a blood quill, or trapped in a room with an irritable Hippogriff?

Harry didn't return to Gryffindor tower until very late, once again, and so he was greeted by nothing more than a worn copy of the _Evening Prophet_, which proclaimed the death of the Minister, and a student at Hogwarts School. _Boy Who Lived reported to have been involved._

He sighed, flicking his wand at the dying fire so that the Common Room wasn't freezing in the morning. Then, he trudged up the stairs and into the Third Year Boys' Dormitory.

Neville snored behind his drawn curtains—mirroring the hidden beds of Dean and Seamus. By contrast, Ron lay sprawled out on his bed, face down, his curtains wide open. His pajamas were far too small, as always, and stopped mid-calf, exposed by his duvet, which lay in a heap on the floor by the bed.

Rubbing his forehead, Harry went over to the wardrobe, to search for some night clothes. He really wanted a shower—to get the filth of the game and the dungeons off of his body and Snape's conversation off of his brain, but he didn't think he could stand for another minute. He was so very tired. He opened one door of the wardrobe, but turned his back to it, pulling off his shirt and throwing it onto his bed. His four-poster was next to Ron's, the wardrobe in between them, and he contemplated closing the hangings on Ron's bed, so as not to wake his friend. He Scourgify'd himself a couple of times, before turning back to the wardrobe, bare-chested.

What he saw when he turned around was enough to stop his heart.

It was sleek, brown hair, pushed haphazardly away from a tear streaked face. It was a broken high heeled shoe, and wrinkled black robes, with a bad picture on an Identification badge, clipped to the breast.

It was Hermione.

She unfolded her legs and hopped down from the wardrobe, sobbing into the sleeve of her robes.

"They're dead, Harry! Why didn't you stop them? Why weren't you there?"

He dropped to his knees, scooting away from her whimpering form slowly. She advanced, falling onto her hands and knees, looking at him with accusing eyes. "You killed Ron! You took away my future. Dead, they're dead!"

"I'm sorry," he said dumbly, the tears falling down his own cheeks.

"That won't bring my husband back, will it?" she snapped, brown eyes turning black with hatred. "You're supposed to be the Chosen One—you let your own wife get killed! How could you!"

"Death Eaters stormed the Burrow," she said, weeping again. "They killed everyone, and then burned down the house. Aurors found Ginny outside, naked. She was—"

"Harry?"

The weeping widow looked at Ron with annoyance, but its form twisted—body growing in size, and changing to black. The long brown hair shrunk, blending into the body, now squat and close to the ground, pitch black, with a barb at the end of the abdomen. A spider, big enough to be one of Aragog's sons, the smudgy mascara covered eyes of Hermione for a face.

"Wahhaaat is that?" Ron said, jerking back and onto the bed.

The first time Harry tried to speak, it came out as a grunt. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. "A Boggart," he said finally. "It's just a Boggart," he repeated, mostly to himself.

A decisive wand movement and a well-timed spell later, and the Boggart was gone, leaving Harry and Ron to the darkness again.

"You were going to tell me something," Ron said, brushing the ginger hair from his eyes.

Harry moved to sit next to Ron, against the side, wooden paneling of Ron's four-poster bed. "It's gonna sound barmy."

"It can't be any more mental than what I'm thinking right now," Ron said reasonably.

"What do you think right now?"

He didn't answer right away, instead letting the silence build up between them, like noise of its own. Neville's snores intensified, and they listened to that for a while.

"I've been thinking about a lot of stuff—like why you're so good at classes when you grew up with Muggles, and how you took Ginny and 'Mione and were able to just disappear, like you didn't even exist anymore. And why Hermione does whatever you say, whenever you say, when she doesn't trust me to do my revision by myself. Mum says you act like you've known Ginny all her life—though it couldn't be true.

"I've been thinking, more and more, especially after I just heard what the Boggart said, that maybe you _have_ known Ginny her whole life. It sounds bonkers, but…"

Harry sighed. "That's pretty much it. I've done this before, if you know what I mean."

"Why'd you come back?" Ron asked lightly.

Harry didn't bother to think about why Ron was taking this so easily, except to realize Ron must've been thinking about this for a long while. The pieces weren't hard to put together, but you did have to take a leap of faith to put that last, middle piece so that you could finish the picture. The Boggart had been the missing piece for Ron, and Harry was glad. At least he had all of his friends back now.

"Pretty much what the Boggart said. I lost all of you, except Hermione, and I had to get you back."

"Hermione was still there?"

"Yeah. But she was pretty miserable. Do you want to know why?"

Harry's eyes were on the floor, so he didn't see Ron's expression. "No, I don't want to know."

"Okay."

# # #

_"You and my sister, eh?"_

_He didn't know what to say, so he nodded his head awkwardly. "Yeah."_

_"Percy's pretty hacked off about it. Thinks she'd be better off with someone else."_

_"I thought you weren't talking to him."_

_Ron snorted. "Git sent a letter."_

_"That sounds like Percy," Harry commented, wiping off the Quaffle and throwing it into the case where it belonged. The bludgers were still flying around in the air, but Harry had the training snitch in his pocket._

_"Reckon your parents feel the same way?" he asked, trying to be causal._

_Ron laughed. "My parents fucking love you, you dolt. Mum's probably already planning a wedding. That one's coming toward you, should we just grab it now?" He motioned to the incoming bludger, pulling up his gloves._

_"Yeah."_

_They stood facing each other, waiting for the black ball to come rocketing toward the ground. It was finally within range, closer to Harry than his companion. "Mine!" he called, cradling his arms, letting the ball fall into his arms. He was braced for the impact, and he caught it neatly._

_"What's your opinion?" he asked hesitantly._

_Ron nudged him on the shoulder as they walked back up toward the castle. "Better you than another bloke, I guess," he said gruffly, but Harry could see his smile._

# # #

The next morning was a strange mixture of chaos and silence.

Seamus Finnegan started out the morning by having an explosive argument with his mother in the middle of the entrance hall. Her face was red with indignation, as her son screamed his displeasure, along with some curse words which would probably have shocked an Auror. Actually, they did. Harry winced as he made his way into the Great Hall.

Sitting down at Gryffindor table next to Ron and across from Hermione, he grimaced at the yells carrying through the stone building. "That's awful," he said.

"It's one thing to talk like that with your mates," Ron agreed, throwing an uneasy look at the doors, "but mum's are different."

"The Patil twins were on their way to Bauxbatons before breakfast began," Hermione said, buttering her toast. "Angelina said Padma was crying her eyes out."

Ginny sat down next to Hermione, spooning sugar onto her porridge. "Well, Marrietta Edgecombe left this morning, too. She and Cho were best friends."

Just then the post came in, filling the hall with squawking birds. Harry didn't have much mail, except from the occasional update from Moody or Tonks. He did get the _Prophet_, which fell neatly next to his plate at the table. The brown barn owl that had delivered it flew off without a thought. Harry paid his subscription a year in advance.

**Cornelius Fudge, devoted public servant**

**by Dolores Umbridge**

_There are not many men who possess the same greatness as Minister Fudge so radiated in his life and political career. Merlin himself would have been proud of Fudge and his dedicated effort to protect and continue the traditions of the Magical people, for whom he worked tirelessly._

Hermione chuckled from behind her copy. "Who is this woman? Comparing him to Merlin, really?"

_To fully understand the man behind the bowler hat, we must first look at his life before becoming the most influential and brilliant leaders ever seen._

"I wonder who else will be leaving this week," said Ginny.

"Blaise Zabini's mum almost decided to send him to Durmstrang," Hermione said.

"How do you know that?" Ron demanded. "What're you doing checking up on Zabini anyway? He's a right git!"

Hermione blushed, and Ginny reprimanded her brother.

_Cornelius grew up in Kent, in the countryside of Herne Bay, where his father owned a respectable plot of land. His mother, Brunhilde, was a strapping young woman of German decent, taught him the primary school subjects at home. His father, Frank, worked as Head of Department of International Magical Cooperation, which he held until his death in 1940. Cornelius grew up dreaming of following his father's footsteps, but later accepted a job as Junior Minister of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes in order to better protect the Magical community and carry out the Statute of Secrecy._

"Could you pass the kippers?" Hermione asked Ron, who squeaked at her, face pale. Harry resisted the urge to laugh.

_He was instrumental in capturing murderer Sirius Black, and was as a direct result of his excellence in a great time of need in our history, was rewarded with the honor of the title, Minister for Magic._

"Gin, is that a letter from mum?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Ronald!"

_From his first day as Minister, Fudge proved to be a decisive and bold leader. He continually made the tough decisions, causing this to be one of the most productive periods of time in the history of Britain. He reformed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, taking an active role in the education of our children, as well as ensuring that laws are fair and beneficial to all people worthy of magic._

"Say, Hermione, do you have the latest Transfiguration notes?"

"Yes."

"D'you think I could borrow them? Just this once?"

_Cornelius Fudge will be remembered as a genius political mind, a brilliant lawmaker. He will be greatly missed by his wife and his colleagues at Ministry, as well as by the people of magical Britain._

"Quite an obituary, wasn't it?"

Harry turned around to find Cedric Diggory, looking pale and drawn with red eyes and puffy cheeks, standing alongside the Gryffindor table. Cedric's jaw was clenched, and his eyes shifted from Harry to the other Gryffindor students, as if daring them to intervene. Harry glanced over at the Weasley twins, who looked as though they might take Cedric up on his challenge, and at Percy who seemed ready to shove his Head Boy badge in both of their faces.

"Could I have a word?" Cedric asked in a low voice. Ron opened his mouth to say something, but Harry cut him off by standing up, shooting Hermione a reassuring glance.

Cedric set a brisk pace toward the Entrance Hall. As Harry moved to follow him, he heard Hermione, in an annoyed voice, ask Ron, "Why are you _looking_ at me like that?"

They walked through the Entrance Hall and into a secluded alcove on the first floor. Harry hadn't rounded the corner before Cedric had thrown him against the stone wall, giving him a punch to the jaw.

"What were you thinking, Potter?" he asked wildly, this time aiming a hit at Harry's stomach. The force of the blow knocked the breath from Harry, but he did nothing to resist—he didn't even pull out his wand.

"Do you think that just because you're the bloody _Boy Who Lived_ that you can just play with peoples' lives, just, just…" He seemed to lose his train of thought, so he punched Harry instead, in the face again, opposite jaw. Again. And once more.

Finally he pulled back, releasing Harry and collapsing against the wall next to him, sobbing. Harry felt tears come to his own eyes, but he brushed them away, instead turning his back so that Cedric could let his out in private.

"I couldn't save her; I couldn't take them out myself!" Cedric cried, pounding his fist against the wall. Several minutes later, he quieted. "How do you do it?"

"What?" His voice sounded very strange.

"I saw you at the train, through the window. You're good, really good. You fought him, You Know Who, and you won. You killed another Death Eater all by yourself. How do you know what to do?" He could hear Cedric sniffling, trying to pull himself together.

"I've had a lot of training," he said honestly.

"Will you show me?"

Harry didn't turn around. "I'll show you," he promised.


	18. Back in the Saddle

**A/N: This Cho/Cedric storyline is all thanks to Alia Ziaen, who pitched this idea and helped me develop it. These next couple of chapters would've been completely different without her. Again, sorry for the wait. I'm on Twitter now, as grillingnaked, so if you want to know what's going on—I'll be keeping tabs on my progress there.**

**# # # **

_**December 1993**_

The Ministry lift was dead silent, save the slight shuffling of impatient paper airplanes, pushing against the metal door. Harry pulled slightly on the collar of his Oxford, betraying his anxiety by the sheen of sweat covering his entire body. It was unbearably hot in the lift.

His escort was a morose looking Arthur Weasley, who, in addition to being a highly respected Order member, was also pressured into volunteering for the assignment by his wife, who had welcomed Harry into the family with open arms, after a discussion with Moody.

The hearing was more of a formality; there were about a hundred _credible_ witnesses that said Fudge has been disguised as Voldemort, and was more than likely under the Imperius Curse at the time he fell to his death. Thus, the whole business had been delayed two months, which was just enough time for Harry to get the D.A. (this time under the name Defense Association) back running.

The silence between the two men stretched out; becoming such an unmanageable thing that Harry hardly knew how to break it. It had been downright awkward staying over for the Christmas holidays, and Harry knew he would have to clear the air at some point. Everything else he needed to do would be hindered without Arthur Weasley on his side.

"Sir, I would like to apologize for this summer, and any stress I put you through by taking Ginny," he said in his most innocent voice.

Arthur took in a breath, tapping his foot impatiently while the lift chugged along at an unsteady pace.

"You are hardly a teenager, Harry; you cannot imagine the pain one goes through when he can't find his child. You put me in that position, Harry. I don't know how you did it, Merlin, I doubt Albus even knows how you did it—but even unimaginable power doesn't excuse the fact that you put my daughter in danger and put our home into crisis mode."

"I can understand your position, sir," Harry said, trying hard not to be resentful. Images of Ginny's pale face, her slender, motionless body draped in a soft green dress. Oh, how wrong Arthur was. Harry knew more than anything the pain of losing someone—only his had been much worse. Harry had known exactly where Ginny was after she died, and he knew there was no hope of getting her back. "However, I would hope you could understand that I did the best that I could in the time allotted. If I hadn't taken Ginny and Hermione when I did, I'm not sure you would have a daughter right now."

"There are professors at Hogwarts for a reason. You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts, yes, but there was no earthly reason why you couldn't have taken the girls up to the Headmaster's office and asked him for help."

The doors opened, and an aging wizard took a step forward, as if to enter the lift, but sensing the tense air and both wizards' scowling faces, he thought the better of it, waving his wand to shut the doors again.

"As her father, I would think you could understand that my sole concern was for the safety of the girls. Hogwarts was compromised and having two of the most important people in my life in a hazardous area was not agreeable to me. I acted brashly, and for that I am sorry."

"I'll figure you out, Potter," said Arthur. "You may think you're smarter than all the adults set to protect you, but you're wrong. I'll figure it out."

"Good luck," he said flippantly. "My reality makes your wildest dreams seem dull."

The lift dinged again, and they stepped off onto one of the lower courtrooms, where the entire Wizengamot was waiting to acquit Harry of all charges. He knew as well as they all did that there would be hell to pay—a Public Relations nightmare—if they didn't.

The reason for the big to-do was, of course, because no matter how innocent Harry, the questionable death of a high ranking Ministry official warranted such proceedings. It didn't matter the outcome, the Wizengamot just had to meet and make a consensus.

He and Arthur crossed the threshold into the court room, and met with the stares of the full Wizengamot—a sight that, though Harry was prepared for it, was marginally intimidating.

"I'm sure you're aware, Mr. Weasley, that you cannot accompany Mr. Potter any further," called a voice from the center seat, looking toad like and irritable.

"Of course, Madam Umbridge," Arthur said stiffly. He didn't acknowledge Harry but with a brief nod of the head before he exited the room.

"Murder hearing the twenty-third of December," Umbridge began in a pompous voice, eliciting an eye roll from the monocle wearing Amelia Bones.

"I hardly think this constitutes the label _murder_, Madam Umbridge. This is clearly a case of accidental death."

"Hear, hear!" called a man toward the back of the seated members. Several other members clapped.

"As Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, I have to express my—"

"_I _hear the Minister has to hide in the Auror division to get rid of you," muttered the scribe snidely from his seat.

Umbridge looked aghast. "If this is the manner in which we address a member of the Wizengamot—"

"_Investigators: _Amelia Susan Bones," Madam Bones interrupted. "And Dolores Jane Umbridge."

The Minister's seat was taken by Madam Umbridge, but she was not, nor would she ever in her overly long life, the Minister for Magic. Rufus Scrimegour, as head of the Auror Department, had claimed the title of interim Minister, but was not around very much, claiming his attentions were needed in the Department that had the best chance of dealing with Voldemort. _Early detection_, he said, _iss key_. There would be no remake of the first war. _Early detection_, he had said again. Harry, Hermione, and Ron, when reading the statement in the _Prophet_, had thought it sounded rather like Voldemort was a pimple. Or an STD. Early detection, indeed.

"Any witnesses for the defense?" Umbridge asked smugly.

"Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore," said another voice from the back of the courtroom, stunning everyone, Harry included.

"You're late," Amelia Bones said with a slight smile, reminding Harry of Professor McGonagall.

Umbridge just scowled.

"Oh, yes, do forgive me, I spilled a bit of tea on my cloak this morning and once I had gotten to the trouble of cleaning it up, well, I must admit I was more than a little late."

He turned his twinkling blue eyes onto Harry, which, for once, did not dim upon seeing him.

"Hello, Mr. Potter, might I enquire after your health?"

"I am well, sir, very well. And yourself?"

"I am well, I thank you."

Umbridge hissed. "I hope I'm not interrupting your little tea party, but as important members of the Wizengamot, we _do _have other matters to attend to."

"Which prompts the question: why have all the members of the Wizengamot met to question a thirteen year old boy in a matter that is so obviously a case of accidental death?" asked Dumbledore, blue eyes flashing.

"I thought the death of our beloved Minister necessitated the full court," Umbridge replied.

"Then I would suggest we put aside our squabbling and begin the inquiry," Madam Bones said, looking at Harry with a curious look in her eye.

"Excellent," Dumbledore said.

**# # #**

After several hours of questioning, Harry was cleared of all charges. Even Umbridge was loath to vote against him, not wanting to risk the news leaking out (in all probability, Harry would've owled the _Prophet _himself) and destroying her career in politics.

Arthur and Harry joined the rest of the Weasley family at the Burrow, where Ron (Hermione had been taken to by her parents on holiday to Spain) immediately tried to take him up to the attic to question him on the court proceedings. Unfortunately, Arthur ordered both of the boys to help degnome the garden. This time around there was no shouting of "He got off," just the bustling of Mrs. Weasley downstairs cooking away for Christmas dinner.

It wasn't until late at night, when finally Molly went to bed, that they had a chance to speak about the inquiry. Arthur had retired hours before, claiming a headache, but Fred and George had coaxed them into a game of Exploding Snape, which was a variation on the original 'Exploding _Snap'_ except that the twins had bewitched the deck to contain cards depicting the likeness of Snape, which, if not discarded immediately, were liable to burst into flames in the player's face.

"So, how was it? How'd it go?" Ron asked, from in his bed on the other side of the room.

"It was… weird, I guess. I mean, I was cleared of all charges, but it's not like I was expecting to be convicted of anything. It was just…"

"What?"

"The Wizengamot members were bickering, and not in a subtle way. It was confusing."

"Dad says they've been fighting over succession," Ron answered. "There's one woman in particular who is trying to take more power than is her due. She doesn't like that Auror Scrimgeour is cutting back her _duties_."

Harry thought about that for a moment, wondering what would happen if he let things with the Minister just lie for a while. What could he do to get Umbridge out of the way so he could usher in another Minister for Magic? He had a candidate in mind, but with Umbridge's claws in anyone looking to move up in rank, it wouldn't be easy. He couldn't very well invite her back to Hogwarts; he'd never get another moment of peace—but she couldn't be allowed to keep her place as Undersecretary. Not only was she causing strife within the Wizengamot, but she was distracting Scrimgeour, who was actually putting an effort into capturing Voldemort. The interim Minister seemed wholly unconcerned with politics at the moment.

An idea sparked off in his mind, and he was about to share it with Ron, but the snores sounding from the other side of the room signaled that Harry had let the silence stretch on too long. Ron was asleep.

**# # #**

"I'm afraid I see _death_ in your future, lad," said Trelawney, blinking her bug like eyes at him. Next to him, Ron chortled.

"Unless you find a cure for aging," Hermione sniffed. "I imagine everyone will have that pesky problem."

Trelawney did not look amused. "_Premature_ death," she said airily. "I assume you can identify this line here," she ran her fingernail down Harry's palm. "As the Life Line. The line is disrupted, and branching off in different directions." She finished her sentence with a slight smirk on her face.

"I foresee a mighty enemy—" she began, only to be broken off by Hermione's hysterical laughter. A girl in Hufflepuff gave her a sour look from a nearby table, before returning her eyes to the professor, with rapt attention.

"That's it!" Hermione said, standing up and shoving her books into her bag, glaring at Ron and Harry who didn't immediately get up to join her. "I'm done with this class! It's complete rubbish!"

"Other pupils seem to appreciate the art of Divination," said Trelawney, wrinkling her nose at Hermione. "I foresaw you would be the one person to leave our ranks our very first time together. Now, if you would all like to see just how I Saw this—"

"You were wrong," smirked Harry. "Two of us will be leaving this class."

"Make that three!" cried Ron, pushing the sleeves of his robes up and slinging his bag—which he hadn't even opened—onto his shoulder.

In the end, Hermione's little rebellion took five students from third year Divination, all Gryffindor. Neville and Dean accompanied them, which Hermione found hilarious.

"We just walked out of class, can you believe it?" she asked, short of breath.

"No, Miss Granger, I cannot," said a very ruffled McGonagall, from the door of her office. "I may expect this sort of stunt from Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley here—and more especially the elder Weasley brothers—but I do not expect this sort of behavior from you, Miss Granger."

"I'm sorry, Professor," Hermione began in a shockingly calm voice, the boys standing behind her. "But we simply could not stomach the thought of another year hearing outrageous predictions of death!"

"Oh yes," McGonagall said, her mouth giving way to a small smile. "Which of you is destined to die this year?" Seamus and Dean snickered.

"I am, Professor," Harry said. "Evidently my life-line is strikingly short."

"Pish, posh," McGonagall said. "She once claimed _my_ life-line was short. And look at me; I surely haven't died young. Yes, the problem is, though, that I can't give you study periods just yet, and the Arithmancy class during this hour is full—I can't have a group of third years doing nothing!"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Professor," Hermione said. "But I believe Professor Lupin has no class this hour. Would he be able to supervise us in a class of our own creation?"

"What would you suggest?"

"I was thinking it could be a kind of Independent Study of Defense Against the Dark Arts," Hermione replied. "He would be a sort of adviser to us, while we go into more advanced curriculum."

Harry grinned, looking from Seamus to Dean to Ron with a smug look on his face.


End file.
